Alpha Males
by Tipper
Summary: A Crossover of the Mag7 and the A-Team in the old west, the latter getting the AU treatment. Story involves two nuns, two alpha leaders, a few cons, and too many outlaws to count. Complete in six parts
1. Part One

Author: Tipper  
Title: Alpha Males

Disclaimer: I'm on my knees begging the powers that be not to sue me. I only want to have a little fun and share it with others, at no charge. The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy, and were developed by John Watson. The A-Team belong to Stephen Cannell, who also created them.

Chapters: 6

Notes: I always loved the fact that Heather and NotTasha put Ezra up on the tops of roofs, so I am borrowing that little character enhancement, if they don't mind. Parts of the story are borrowed from several A-Team episodes (see how many you can spot!), but it seemed a fun way to introduce the boys into this Mag 7 world of ours.

Description: A crossover fic with the A-Team - old west style. Four strangers and two nuns bring a lot of trouble to Four Corners, trouble that none of the men could have predicted.

* * *

**Part One: The A-Team come to Four Corners**

The covered wagon drew stares, and not just because it was barely intact, but because it was _loud_.

The wood creaked and moaned and looked like someone had attacked it with a sledgehammer, and the ripped canvas shell flapped in the wind like a loose sail. The horses stumbled and sighed, heads shaking as if in exasperation, rattling their bridles with every step. And in the back, someone roared like a grizzly bear in terrible pain. He was yelling and arguing with someone, using language that would make a sailor blush. The odd thing was that the angry voice kept repeating the same word as if it were a name - "Face."

It was driven by an amused looking silver haired man clothed in blue denims and a pair of brown leather riding chaps, and a disgruntled looking nun. She was rubbing her hands nervously on her habit, clearly ill at ease. The silver haired man tipped his soft tan colored hat to the onlookers, and chewed on the thick cigar between his lips with a smile.

Behind the wagon a tall man with a lopsided grin on his face was riding a paint, pulling two other horses, a white mare and a tall dark brown gelding. He was young, maybe about thirty five, and good looking in an odd way, if one could get past the slightly wild look about the eyes. Shaggy brown hair stuck out from under flat brimmed dark brown hat, and he wore a short dark brown leather jacket over a pair of tan breeches.

Next to him, a fourth horse - a large black Arabian that looked meaner and bigger than even Chris's tall gelding - trotted on its own. The horse by itself would have been unusual, its stock and breeding signaling it out as an incredible steed, but the red-stained leather saddle embroidered with native symbols and feathers had many looking in unabashed wonder. The horse bowed its head at the onlookers, as if used to the attention.

JD stepped off the boardwalk in front of the jail, and Buck leaned over the hitching post behind him. Like the others, they watched the parade open mouthed. Chris and Vin came out of the saloon, while Josiah cracked open the doors to the church and leaned against the doorframe. The preacher looked up to see a flash of red atop the mercantile as Ezra, who had been reading on the roof, leaned over to see what was going on.

A particularly loud yell came from the back of the wagon, and the nun sitting in front flinched. The voices from the wagon rose another level in volume.

"Hush up back there!" the driver yelled firmly, his gaze scanning the people on the street. He nodded at the man in black and his companions, as if sensing their authority. In the back of the wagon, the argument ceased...for all of a minute.

Less than a wheel turn later, it started up again with a yelp of pain, and someone was shoved out of the back of the wagon amidst more yelling. The silver-haired man put a hand to his face and sighed.

The shoved man rolled and ended up lying directly in the path of the large black horse. Stopping, it stared down at him...or rather, glared down at him.

The man was probably about Ezra's age, maybe a little older, with a mess of sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes that, after a startled moment, glared back at the beast staring down at him. He was dressed in the black vestments of the Catholic church, although the entire costume was covered entirely with dirt. He sneered at the horse, wagging a finger just inches from the horse's nose.

"Don't give me that, you arrogant piece of horseflesh. It's not my fault!" The horse snorted and the young man snarled in return. "Fine. Maybe it is a little, but... Oh what am I doing? Get away from me! I am not arguing with a horse!" He swatted the offending beast's nose, and the big black bared its teeth in response and promptly stepped over him as if he were no more than mud in the road.

Nearby, the wild man started to laugh out loud. The priest, if that's what he was, pushed himself up off the ground and glared at him.

"And you, you just shut up! This is your fault too, Murdock! You were supposed to be helping me!"

"On the contrary, you said you didn't need me," Murdock retorted. He started waving his hand in front of his face. "In fact, you specifically told me to go the other way, so who was I to say nay?" He pointed an accusatory finger at the priest. "There's no glory in changing your story! Just ask the nuns, they'll tell you it's shunned. Why, if you were me, I'd be embarrassed to be me...being you, being me...see?" The finger trailed random patterns in the air as the tall man worked out what he just said in his mind.

The priest just stared at him a second, eyes wide with confusion, then he swiftly smacked a hand to his forehead and dragged it down his face in an exasperated gesture.

"Oh great, great," he mumbled through the hand. "We're back to rhyming again. Terrific. Wonderful. Could my day get any better?"

"_Lieutenant_!" bellowed a stern voice from where the wagon had pulled up in front of Nathan's clinic. The resident healer hung over the railing above them, talking to the nun in front. Another nun, who looked barely over eighteen, stuck her head out of the back of the wagon, blinking into the sunlight. The man who had bellowed was the one with the silver hair, and he was staring impatiently at the priest.

The young man sighed. "Apparently not. Coming!"

With a few futile attempts to get some of the dust off of his clothes, he jogged lightly over to the wagon. Murdock followed slowly with the horses, the goofy grin back. The big black was already there, trying to stick its head inside the wagon, pushing the young nun back inside with a few startled shrieks. The priest arrived in time to manhandle the big black out there to give her enough room to get out. After shoving the big black back, the priest tossed a purse of coins to the silver haired man, then climbed up into the wagon again.

The yelling started up immediately.

"I'm going to get you for this, Face! You hear me! You are a dead man! This is your fault, you fool! Get off me! Let me go!"

"B.A., you've got a fairly sizeable hole in your leg, now, you really shouldn't be exerting yourself..."

"Exerting myself? Exerting myself? I'll show you exerting myself!"

"Hey Now, Hey...watch it! HANNIBAL! Help me! OW! B.A.! Let go!"

The silver haired man was standing with the Yosemite, paying him some change to take care of the horses. The one called Murdock dismounted and passed the reins of the white mare and the other gelding to Yosemite, before looking across at his leader.

"Colonel, maybe I should be with the big guy? I know he needs me. My brother B.A. is suffering, and I don't think Face is on the case."

"Oh I don't know," Colonel Hannibal Smith tilted his head to the side and listened to Face and B.A. arguing in the back of the wagon. "Face seems to be doing just fine, Murdock."

At that same instant, Lieutenant Templeton "Face" Peck, still wearing the robes of a priest, got shoved out the back of the wagon again to land with an audible thump on the ground on his rear.

"Hannibal!" he whined, burying his face in his hands. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Let B.A. get shot, by not covering when you were supposed to, kid," Hannibal gently reminded him, stepping over Face much the same way the big black Arabian had (who was still standing outside the livery and glaring at both men). With a grin, the Colonel stubbed out his cigar and climbed into the wagon to say something which quieted the man within. In a few moments, Hannibal pulled back the tarp and smiled at the man on the ground with a full mouth of perfectly straight white teeth.

"Ready?" he asked.

Face stared back with a defeated expression. "That's not a smile," he replied sarcastically as he climbed into the wagon. "It's just a bunch of teeth playing with my mind!"

Meanwhile, the onlookers had, for the most part, gone on their way, having grown bored when the wagon reached the clinic and out of general hearing. Buck and JD had wondered across to the saloon, to join Chris and Vin who had moved to sit down in front. Much of the conversation that had just occurred among the strangers had been unheard, but they still watched.

Josiah sat in front of the church whittling on a piece of wood, also still watching, though he was more interested in the nuns and the young man in the priest's habit. The nuns, for the most part, had remained silent and somewhat apart from what was happening. The older woman had a hand on the younger one's shoulder. Meanwhile, Nathan had come down the clinic stairs and was waiting for the men inside the wagon to come out.

And, up on the roof of the building next to the livery, Ezra propped his hands under his chin and watched with avid fascination to what was happening down below. A curious smile graced his face as he listened. From his placement, he could hear everything, and he had absolutely no remorse about his blatant eavesdropping. It was just too interesting.

"All right, here we go B.A., nice and easy. It's going to be all right."

"Nothing's going to be all right so long as Face here still has a face," a voice grumbled.

"Now B.A., never say that!" the younger man's voice entreated. "Where would you be without my face, huh?"

"Somewhere safe and warm, without a bullet in my leg!" B.A. spat.

"It's just a deep graze, B.A.," Hannibal said tiredly.

"I'll remind you that you said that next time you get a 'graze,' Hannibal."

Ezra leaned forward as the cloth tarps were pulled back on the wagon and the priest emerged to stand on the ground. He reached out and Ezra's eyes widened as a dark, impossibly muscled arm emerged to snake around the priest's neck.

The last of the four strangers was stout and built like an ox, all muscle and sinew. He was a black man, wearing dark blue denim overalls that looked as if they had been patched one too many times. Under he wore a dark green shirt with the sleeves ripped off - clearly with the intention to show off his arms, and a necklace of what looked like cougar teeth hung around his neck. Ezra shook his head, imaging how much money this man could have gotten him boxing in the hippodromes back east. The black hair on his head was shaved in a strange imitation of what looked like a Mohawk hairdo, except that it was cut short and near to his head.

The man continued to send threats at Face as he got his good leg under him and Hannibal emerged to take his other arm. Together, the three hopped, pulled and, with Nathan's help, carried B.A. up the stairs of the clinic. By the time they reached the top, all the men were sweating.

Down below, Murdock stepped outside the livery and looked at the big black. It bared its teeth in response and lowered its head menacingly, like a bull thinking about charging. Murdock took a step back.

"Hannibal? Someone's gotta take care of Vandal!" he yelled up the stairs. The horse shook his head, almost as if it were laughing, then bared his teeth once more at Murdock and took a step forward. The man physically jumped, almost knocking into the two nuns. The younger one emitted a tiny cry and was quickly shushed.

A few minutes later, Face came out from the clinic and made his way slowly down the stairs, looking oddly older. When he reached Murdock he sighed.

"Go on up. I got Van," he said. Murdock grinned, patted him on the back (which caused several large dust clouds to puff up), and jogged up the stairs of the clinic. When he reached the door, the sound of B.A. growling at his arrival was easily heard. Murdock was not fazed, shouting quite loudly:

"B.A., have no fear! Your angel of mercy is here!"

Face shook his head and walked towards Vandal.

"Um..." one of the nuns spoke up as Face reached to grab Vandal's reins, "what about us?"

Face patted the horse's hide, ignoring the flash of teeth it gave him. "Hannibal fixed it so the livery owner here will fix your wagon up tonight. As soon as I get us rooms, we'll stay the night at the hotel, and then you can head back to join your sisters down in Mexico. Oh, and here." He dropped the reins and pulled out a wallet from his pockets.

Ezra almost whistled as Face opened the wallet to display a wad of cash, a sum that looked close to five thousand dollars in size. The priest handed the wallet to the older nun.

"Is this...is this all of it?" the older nun asked.

"Yep. That's everything they stole from you. Should have no trouble building that mission now." He smiled, a genuine one that lit up his whole face.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Peck!" the younger nun cried, jumping forward to embrace Face in a fierce hug.

"Sister Matilde! Control yourself!" the older one chastised.

"Yes, Sister Catherine," the younger one muttered, pulling out of the embrace. Face just gave them both a lopsided grin.

"Yes," the older nun said solemnly, looking at face with dark eyes. "I suppose we should thank you. I just wish I could be sure those men won't be back to threaten us."

"Most of them are locked up in a Mexican prison now, Sister Catherine, and, as for the rest, they no longer believe you have anything they want. They believe we have it all. When they come, it will be for me and my friends, and we will take care of them, I promise. Hannibal has a plan, and his plans usually work...mostly."

"How can you be so sure?"

Face just smiled. "You just have to have faith, sister."

"Normally, Mr. Peck, faith is something I have in abundance, but my faith in others is sorely lacking at this moment." Sister Catherine sighed, looking vaguely in the direction of the livery and the ruined wagon. Little Matilde took her arm and leaned against her.

Face inclined his head. "Hannibal did not expect them to follow us so far. But, if Hannibal's right about this town, they won't follow us in here. Now, you and Sister Matilde here should get some food. I saw a small restaurant as I came in attached to the hotel. I'll meet you in there after I acquire us some accommodations."

The older nun nodded, took the younger woman's arm in her own, and headed back in the direction of the main town.

Face sighed, and pushed a tired hand through his hair again as he watched them leave. Then he looked at Vandal and shook his head. As he grabbed the big black's reins, someone clearing his throat caused him to look up at the clinic.

Hannibal looked down from the railing. "Did you give it all to them?"

Face nodded. "Yeah. I wish you had let us keep some Hannibal. How am I supposed to find us a place to stay tonight?"

That earned a grin. "Oh, you'll think of something. You always do. Besides, Murdock's going to stay up here tonight, so it'll just be you and me and the nuns to take care of."

Face sighed, nodded, and pulled sharply in Vandal's reins to pull the horse into the livery. Unlike Murdock, the horse responded to his command, even though he didn't look pleased at doing so.

Up above on the roof, the gambler grinned, enjoying this more and more. This was going to be an interesting day.

* * *

Vin and Chris were still watching the livery when the priest emerged, still brushing dust off of his clothes. Buck and JD had long gone inside the saloon. The priest looked up and, seeing them looking at him, nodded a hello and smiled. Chris inclined his head once in return.

Face held on to the smile as best he could, but couldn't ignore the tension that these men in front of the saloon radiated. He guessed they were the local bruisers. Nothing to worry about, he silently told himself. Gathering his wits, he took on a casual gait and headed in the direction of the hotel.

"Shall we ask what is going on?" Vin asked, following the man with his eyes.

"He's not the one to ask," Chris replied.

"Oh?"

"Nope. Its the one with the silver hair who is in charge."

"Ah, yeah, I know. But that one's a priest. He might be more willing to talk to us."

Chris pursed his lips, "Not so sure. Something odd about him and those others." He looked at his shoes, as if they had the answer. Suddenly Vin chuckled, and Chris looked up.

"Looks like we don't have to worry," the tracker said, his eyes lifted to the roofs across the way. Chris glanced up as well, and a small smile graced his face.

Jumping from the bank to the apothecary's roof was Ezra, red coat flashing like a beacon on high, trailing the movements of the man down below. At one point, the priest stopped and looked back, as if he heard someone, then, abruptly, he looked up. But Ezra had already hidden himself. With a frown, the priest continued on his way, though clearly less at ease than he had been.

Vin and Chris continued to watch as Ezra leaped onto the Potter's roof, and then, in a quick jump, made it to the hotel. In moments, he had the trap door leading to the roof wrestled open and had disappeared inside. A few minutes later, the priest also entered the hotel - by the front door.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if Ezra ain't part squirrel." Vin grinned, putting his hands behind his head.

"He's part something all right," Chris agreed with an answering smile. "But I think squirrel may be a little kind."

* * *

Ezra skidded to a stop atop the landing atop the stairs just above the front desk, well within hearing range, and settled in to listen. The day clerk, a Mr. Chambers, was busy reading the Clarion when the "priest" entered. He looked up when the dust young man reached the desk.

Face had already taken the silver wire-rimmed glasses out of his pocket and put them on, pushing them up his nose with a sniff as he smiled at the clerk.

Mr. Chambers smiled back. "Good afternoon, Father."

"Afternoon, my son. And how are we on this bounteous day?" A slight Irish brogue had been added to the man's voice, and, up above, Ezra's smile widened to a grin.

"Oh, well, well, Father. Lovely, in fact. And yourself?"

Here Face sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Well, I'll tell you, sir, it has been a hard day for me and the sisters. Our wagon broke down, some renegades attacked us, and, frankly, all I could think of was getting here and taking a long nap. I swear, when I saw the town's buildings from atop that rise out there, I was never more pleased to see a place in my life."

Mr. Chambers showed the proper amount of consternation, shaking his head in dismay. "Oh, it is a sad day when honest folk of the church get treated so badly. I would have thought even the lowest in our society would at least have the decency to leave you alone. I wish there were something I could do for you, Father."

"No, no, of course not," Face sighed again and pushed the slipping glasses back up his nose. "Honestly, if you could just see your way clear to showing me to the rooms I reserved, I'll be more than happy."

"Reserved?" Mr. Chambers frowned, moving to the guestbook. "Did you say reserved?"

"Aye, son. Two rooms, I reserved. The name's O'Malley, Father O'Malley."

"O'Malley," the clerk repeated, his finger trailing down the ledger's page. He really didn't need to, as he knew there were no reservations marked for today.

"Yes, I sent a wire here with the money a week ago. You see, I'm traveling with two of my sisters, nuns of the St. Vincent's Convent in Hillside, and my uncle John. The rooms are for us. We are on out way to take our new positions at a Mission down in San Pietro."

"A wire, you say?"

"Yes, and I have the response here, somewhere..." he patted his jacket, causing more dust to rise off of him, until finally he reached a hand in his pocket and retrieved a yellow piece of parchment.

"Ah, yes, here we go." He held up the paper to read, keeping it just out of Chambers' view. "To Father Timothy O'Malley, Kansas City. Have received payment and rooms reserved as requested. Signed, Mitchell Castleman, Plainstown Hotel." Finished, Face looked up and smiled at the clerk.

"Plainstown...," Mr. Chambers stuttered, "Ah, that explains it. This isn't Plainstown, Father, it is Four Corners. I admit, I'm not even certain where Plainstown is."

"Four...?" Face looked aghast, his mouth open. "Oh Heaven's above, what a fool. After the attack, I must have gotten us turned around. Four Corners. Oh Lord, what are we to do?" He slumped over the counter, his head in his hands. "What will I tell the sisters?" He looked up, his blue eyes bright with worry, "Are they here already?"

"The nuns?" Mr. Chambers said, his mind remembering the two tired looking nuns that had come in about ten minutes ago. "Oh, yes. They're in the restaurant."

"The restaurant...and us with only pennies left. Oh Heavens..." Face buried his head again. Mr. Chambers frowned, and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Now, now, don't worry about a thing, Father. I'll get this sorted out. Just hold on a moment." Nodding comfortingly, the clerk turned and went to knock on the manager's door at the end of the desk. When someone called "come in," he went inside and closed the door. Face watched him leave, then smiled brightly. Moving away from the desk, he looked into the restaurant, and waved to the two nuns sitting by the window. They waved back.

A few minutes later, Mr. Chambers returned with the Hotel Manager in tow. The kindly older man took one look at Face and nodded.

"Of course you can stay here, Father. On the house. And the food as well. I'll see to it," the manager stated. Mr. Chambers smiled.

"Oh no, no, you don't have to...," Face began.

"I insist!" the hotel manager replied, raising a hand in silence. "There will be no more discussion on the matter. Chambers, you will give the sisters the front room on the second floor, and the Father here and his uncle one of the back rooms. How long will you be staying sir?"

"Oh, just a night. And I will pay you back, kind sir. You are most gracious."

"Please, it is our pleasure." Turning to the clerk the hotel manager nodded. "See that it is done, Chambers." In response, the clerk bounced across to the guestbook and started writing their names down. A moment later, he grabbed two sets of keys off the rack behind him. Meanwhile, the hotel manager nodded once more at Face, then took his leave by returning to his office.

"Do you have any bags?" the clerk asked, handing over the keys.

"No, though I think the nuns may have a small one. Most everything we had was taken." Face smiled. "Thank you again."

"Really, it's nothing, Father."

"It means a great deal to me," Face shook the man's hand. "Thank you again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will join my sisters for some dinner, to inform them of your kindness." With a nod, he turned and walked into the restaurant.

Mr. Chambers grinned, happy to have done something so good today. Leaning on the counter, he didn't even notice as Ezra descended the stairs to stand at the head of the desk. The gambler cleared his throat, causing the clerk to jump.

"Mr. Standish! I never saw you come in!"

"No, and you wouldn't. I just wanted to tell you...you are a good man Chambers. I heard what you just did."

The clerk grinned more broadly, pulling himself up to stand at full height. "Yes, well, just doing my civic duty, Mr. Standish."

Ezra offered him a crooked smile, and, with one last glance into the restaurant, took his leave through the front doors.

* * *

Josiah stood just outside the hotel doors, looking as if he were composing something in his head as he paced the boards. He looked up as Ezra emerged, frowned, and turned back to staring at the wood beneath his feet. The gambler tilted his head and offered a knowing smile.

"Looking for someone, my friend?"

The preacher frowned even deeper and shot Ezra an annoyed look. The gambler's grin widened.

"They're in the restaurant, but I wouldn't worry about making a good impression. They're only here for the night and from the looks of it, are very tired, so probably won't be up for talking. In particular, don't expect much from the priest, he's not what he appears." Ezra tipped his hat and strode away, leaving a slightly puzzled preacher behind him. Shaking his head, Josiah sighed, straightened his jacket, and turned to go into the hotel.

Chris straightened as Ezra approached, his body silently telling the gambler that he expected a report. Next to the gunslinger, Vin merely tipped his hat back, not bothering to adjust his lean. Ezra smiled at them both.

"Gentlemen, I expect you want to know what I leaned?"

"If you would be so kind," Chris replied.

"Very little, I'm afraid. They are merely passing through. Nothing to worry about."

"Passing through?" Vin frowned, looking in the direction of the clinic. "But ain't one of 'em hurt?"

"A graze. I doubt it will be enough to slow the injured party down for very long, he looks hardier than Josiah." he leaned against a post and tapped a boot heel on the boardwalk.

"What if they bring whoever put that bullet in his leg here?" Chris said sharply. Ezra flexed an eyebrow.

"I believe that they will do their best not to hurt the two sisters in their party. As such, I imagine they do not think the outlaws who attacked them will follow them in here. I heard as much from my vantage point."

"You hear anything about why they were attacked?"

"I did, though only enough to know that these men are on the right side. If I may..." He shot Chris a brief glance, then turned back to watching the wood beneath his feet. "I would ask that we not interfere with their journey." He paused, holding his breath slightly, waiting. Chris frowned, his eyes darkening.

"Why?"

Ezra didn't answer, he just shrugged. Vin watched him curiously, his eyes bright, his expression a sharp contrast to that of the suspicious looking gunslinger next to him. Chris stared at the clinic, then at the hotel. Eventually, he sighed. Fact was, he saw no reason to stir anything up, and he saw no reason to deny Ezra's opinion...for now.

"Fine," Chris agreed. "So long as they stay out of trouble, I'll leave them alone."

As he spoke, he noted that the silver haired man had come down from the clinic, taking the stairs slowly. Ezra offered one last glance in that direction, then sighed as he pushed off the post and headed into the saloon.

"Leave 'em alone, huh," Vin said, pulling the hat once more over his eyes. "Should be easy to do."

"I'll remember you said that," Chris smiled.

Vin tilted his head to look sideways up at the gunslinger, sensing the tension that seemed to grow within his friend as the stranger made his way up the street. Chris couldn't take his eyes off of him, and Vin would have bet without looking that the stranger was matching the stare. Blowing a deep breath out, he tipped the hat back again to watch.

Hannibal walked steadily towards the saloon. He had planned to join Face and the sisters at the restaurant, but he could sense the challenge being thrown at him from the black-clad gunslinger, and Hannibal Smith never backed down from a challenge. Besides, he still had Face's change purse...and he needed a drink.

As he approached, he pulled the half smoked cigar from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

Chris straightened so that he was standing perfectly straight, his shoulders back in an authoritative stance. Vin tried not to smile.

Hannibal smiled around the cigar, betraying the same perfectly white teeth that he had shown Face. Teeth that healthy were a rarity in the west, and Vin had to say he was impressed. As the silver haired man stepped onto the boardwalk, he looked first at Chris, then turned to Vin.

"Got a light, friend?"

Vin offered a catlike smile, and shook his head. "Don't smoke. But he does."

Hannibal nodded, and turned to the gunslinger.

Chris had already pulled out the book of matches from his pocket, and was striking a match. The flare lit up the light blue eyes of the stranger as Hannibal leaned forward, hands raised to protect the cigar from the wind. Without a word, Chris lit the cigar and leaned back, waving the match to put out the tiny flame, his own eyes black beneath the shadows of his low brimmed hat.

At no point during this exchange did either man break eye contact.

Hannibal nodded his thanks, and entered the saloon.

Chris let him go, then moved to lean once more against the wall. Vin shook his head. Behind them, Ezra wandered back out with three shots of whiskey balanced between his fingers. He handed them around, then took a sip from his. Chris and Vin both downed theirs.

"Well, that was fun to watch," the gambler noted idly.

"I think there are icicles hanging off their hats," Vin agreed. Ezra smiled.

"Well said, Mr. Tanner. Indeed, I believe I have a better idea now of how Hector and Ajax reacted to each other upon meeting on the battlefields of Troy."

"Hector and Ajax?" Vin asked, curious despite himself. Chris never even looked at Ezra.

"They were two of history's greatest heroes, and when they met in a duel, neither could gain the upper hand, they were so evenly matched. When the duel ended in a draw, the two sworn enemies exchanged gifts out of respect for each other. Of course, Hector would fail in the end, but back then, heroes were not decided by who won or lost, but by the measure of the man, regardless of the side he was on."

Vin stared at Ezra a second longer, digesting this. Two heroes, he thought, interesting comparison. Ezra's impression of these strangers must be even higher than he had let on. Still leaning against the post, Chris snorted slightly, then turned to go inside, tossing his empty shot glass back to Ezra.

Vin and Ezra nearly collided with each other in their attempt to follow.

* * *

The silver haired man was sitting alone at a table, his feet propped up on a chair. He had a full bottle of Red-Eye in front of him, and two shot glasses, one of which he pushed in the direction of the black-clad gunslinger. Striding confidently up to the table, Chris took an empty chair, took the shot glass and filled it. The silver haired man didn't blink. He even smiled again.

"Hannibal Smith," the newcomer said, drawing a few short puffs on the cigar. Chris downed the drink and wiped his bottom lip with his hand.

"Larabee, Chris Larabee. The law here. I understand you are just passing through?"

"Your man in red there is very quick to find out information."

"He likes to think so."

"Well, he is right. We are only passing through. You have nothing to worry about from us."

"Good." A loud silence filled the space, neither man giving an inch.

Sitting with Vin, Buck and JD, "the man in red" was finding this all somewhat ridiculous. He drew the cards out from his pocket and started shuffling. When no more conversation seemed to be coming from the other table, he stood and wandered over.

"Can I interest you gentlemen in a game?"

Hannibal actually grinned, a pure one this time, without guile. "Was wondering when you'd come over, kid," he chuckled. "But, If you are anything like a friend of mine, and I think you are, I'd rather keep my money. Thanks anyway." Still grinning, he stood and tipped his hat at Chris, then Ezra. "In fact, I think I'm going to meet that friend and get some food. If you will excuse me, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris simply nodded. Hannibal picked up the bottle he had purchased and placed it squarely down in front of the gunslinger. Then he walked out of the saloon, Ezra watching him carefully with a somewhat disgruntled look on his face.

"Something wrong, Ezra?" Chris asked quietly, reaching for the bottle with a smile. The gambler grimaced.

"He called me 'kid'. No one has called me that since I was one. I am well into my thirties, Mr. Larabee, I am most certainly not-"

"Ezra," Chris interrupted, shoving out a chair with his foot, "shut up and start dealing."

* * *

Night came quickly, and the newcomers retired early. Josiah had learned very little from the sisters, and nothing at all from the young priest, though the young man had talked a great deal. It was an impressive trick, the preacher thought later, wondering if it had been on purpose. When the silver haired man had joined them at the restaurant, Josiah had excused himself to join the others at the saloon. Nathan arrived a little while later, shaking his head in amazement. Apparently the new patient and the one called Murdock had not stopped arguing since arrival, though he had to admit, it was more playful in tone than virulent.

When Inez and Ezra finally shut the saloon on everyone's face, the remaining six all went to sleep, except JD. The kid had something itching at the back of his head all night, and, upon returning to his room at the boarding house, pulled out his growing collection of dime novels. After about ten minutes, he as at Chris's door, knocking loudly.

Groaning, the gunslinger pushed himself up off the bed to sit propped up on his elbows.

"What?"

"Chris...something important! These men, I know who they are! They're fugitives, Chris! They're wanted by the army!"

Chris stared at the thick oak door, seeing without needing to, JD on the other side, jumping excitedly from foot to foot. His mind wondered if Ezra had known this.

Without relighting the wick on his lamp, he got to his feet and stumbled to the door in the darkness. Wrenching it open to see the boy on his doorstep, he squinted at the light from the low burning wicks in the hall, giving his face a ferocious gleam and causing JD to back up a step.

"Tell me quickly, JD. I want to go to sleep."

"Oh, this is going to wake you up, Chris, I promise!" With swift move, he shoved the dime store novel in Chris's face. With an irritated huff, the half asleep gunslinger grabbed it from him and inspected the cover. Sure enough, four faces looked back at him - the same four that had arrived in town today.

"Once famed as the Union's Alpha Troop," he read, "this crack frontier unit was arrested and imprisoned for a crime they didn't commit. Promptly escaping from a military stockade, they wander the country as mercenaries, the champions of lost causes, helping those who can't help themselves, all the while eluding capture. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the A-Team." He grimaced, taking in the four faces and bending back the thin cover to read the descriptions within. Lieutenant-Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith, the leader, a brilliant strategist and tactician, knifeman and weapons expert. Lieutenant Templeton "Face" Peck, second in command, supply officer, cardsharp and con artist. Captain Howlin' Mad Murdock, sharpshooter, rodeo star, certified insane during the civil war but never institutionalized. And Sergeant BA "Bad Attitude" Baracus, artillery sergeant, mechanical genius and former prizefighter.

Chris flipped a little further, reading of the introductions to some of the chapters, his face frowning more deeply with each one. Finally, he shut the thin paperback and handed it back. JD looked expectant.

"Should we arrest them?" the kid asked. Chris couldn't tell if there was real excitement in that voice, or trepidation. He smiled down at JD, and shook his head.

"It's late kid, and we're not sheriffs. We don't have to arrest every low-life that comes to town, else we'd never sleep. They haven't done anything to us, and, besides, dime store novels are about as honest as a snake oil salesman. I'm not doing anything without proof." He shrugged at the kid, backed into his room and shut the door, leaving JD in the hallway. The kid rolled up the paperback into a tube and tapped his thigh. After a moment, he sighed and wandered down the corridor to his own room.

* * *

TBC


	2. Part Two

Alpha Males, part two  
  
"Hannibal's plans never work right, they just work" or "How to Piss off Chris Larabee"  
  
______________________________________________________  
  
"GET DOWN!"   
  
In the saloon eating breakfast, Chris, Vin, Nathan and Josiah all jumped up at the yell, recognizing the voice as that of Hannibal Smith. It had come from the clinic. At almost the same instant, a barrage of gunfire exploded outside, echoing down the street like thunder. Instantly, the four men were at the door, guns drawn. Up above, in his room, Ezra threw open his window, his rifle pushing out first.  
  
"Yosemite! Look out!" A woman screamed, holding up the wall near the mercantile.   
  
The people of Four Corners, though never fond of gunfire, were savvy enough to get out of the way, but one hadn't been quick enough. Lying next to his blacksmith rig and gripping his side, Yosemite rocked back and forth, moaning slightly.  
  
Nathan shoved open the batwings and ran up the street, heedless of the danger. Behind him, the others came more cautiously, automatically covering their friend. The healer skidded to the ground next to the blacksmith, getting himself between him and the gunfire. Looking up, he saw the two nuns cowering just inside the livery doors, watching him with terrified eyes.   
  
Around the corner, a combined gunfight and fistfight was in full force. About ten men were attacking Face, Murdock and Hannibal around the repaired wagon. Above, in front of the clinic, BA threw a man off the balcony, yelling just in time for Face to jump back and have the thrown man land atop the two he'd been fighting. It gave Face enough time to swing around and use the butt of his rifle to take down one of the men attacking Murdock. Then, in synchronized movements, the two men took out the other one with a few well placed blows.   
  
Meanwhile, the artillery sergeant picked up his rifle and started shooting at anyone trying to get away, quickly stopping them in their tracks. Most fell to the ground, hands over their heads, well aware that they were all sitting ducks and praying to anyone who would listen that BA wouldn't actually hit them.   
  
Hannibal shoved and punched his way out of a knot of five men, and, with Murdock and Face coming to help him, started taking them down.   
  
Chris, Vin and Josiah moved in to surround the fighting men, grabbing any trying to run and throwing them to the ground. Up above, BA uncocked his rifle and settled down to wait, growling at the fact that he couldn't go and help. In the background, a half dressed Ezra, Buck and JD appeared, standing as backup.  
  
A few minutes later, all the bandits were down, either unconscious or insensible, and the three members of the A-Team were the only ones still standing. Hannibal grinned as he put his gun away, pulling a cigar out of his pocket with his other hand. Face looked less pleased, wiping the blood from a split lip and looking towards the downed blacksmith and to the two nuns beyond. Murdock was already running up the stairs to check on BA, who had collapsed back into a chair on the balcony, gripping his leg. Red blood was leaking through the bandage, but the large man seemed to be holding up all right.  
  
Hannibal wiped the dirt from his hands and grinned across at Face, "I love it when a plan comes together." Face covered his face with his hands and groaned loudly. Hannibal just laughed.  
  
Chris Larabee, however, was not happy at all.  
  
"What the hell happened!" he shouted, striding up to the Colonel and standing toe to toe with the man. Hannibal flexed an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, I should think it was obvious. We were attacked, Mr. Larabee."  
  
"Attacked."  
  
"Yes," the silver haired man looked around, "these outlaws were after the money to build a mission down in San Pietro, money belonging to the Sisters of Saint Vincent's Convent in Kansas City. They aimed to murder these two women," he gestured towards the livery, where Sister Catherine was helping Nathan with Yosemite and Sister Matilde was hovering a few feet away. Face had made his way over and was holding the younger nun by her arm, almost holding her up. Chris looked over at Yosemite, his expression dour, and Nathan caught his eyes. The healer nodded. When the gunslinger looked back at Hannibal, his eyes were as hard as flint.  
  
"Buck!"  
  
"Yeah Chris?" the ladies man jogged forward.  
  
"Put them in jail. All of them."  
  
"Mr. Larabee," Hannibal tried, his brow furrowing, "Now don't go jumping to..."  
  
Chris put up a hand, stopping him. "You brought these men here, Mr. Smith. You doubtless knew they were coming -- your wagon displaying the marks of their previous attempts to capture you - and yet you neither informed me of the danger, or any of the people I protect. Now one of those people is hurt. At this point, I have very little interest in your side of things. Buck," Chris turned and walked away, not needing to see that his orders were carried out. On his way, he passed Ezra, the censure thick in his gaze.  
  
The gambler averted his eyes.  
_____________________________________  
  
Amazingly, none of the men that had attacked Hannibal and his men had been killed, though several sported broken bones and all had plenty of bruises. Nathan had Vin and Ezra helping him tend to their wounds, while JD sorted out their names for the Judge. Hannibal, Face and Murdock were placed in a separate cell.   
  
Oddly, none of the three members of the A-Team looked all that perturbed about being locked up.  
  
"You need our names, kid?" Hannibal asked, looking across at JD. The Sheriff looked up from his desk, and his pile of wanted posters.   
  
"Ah, no sir. I know who you are."  
  
"Oh, terrific!" Face muttered sarcastically, "Our lucky day, eh Hannibal?"  
  
Hannibal didn't reply, just held out his hand to the lieutenant. Rolling his eyes, Face reached into the breast pocket of his priest's jacket and pulled out a cigar. As he handed it over, he started griping again, reaching into another pocket for matches.  
  
"Four Corners is a well protected town, he says. They'll never follow us in there, he says. We can hide the nuns then go back and take care of the bad guys safely, he says." The litany dripped off the younger man's lips with just enough acidity to make Hannibal smile.  
  
"They did leave us alone for a while, Face," the colonel said lightly, as Face lit the cigar.  
  
"And we did almost get away with it," Murdock added from where he had positioned himself against one of the walls.   
  
Face threw his hands in the air, "I consort with lemmings!" he grumbled. "When Hannibal jumps off the cliff, Murdock, why is it you always follow?"  
  
Murdock grinned, "You know why; it's cause he knows how to fly." He flapped his hands like a bird.  
  
"Sure he does, about as well as a buffalo on opium."  
  
"Oh cheer up, kid," Hannibal grinned, patting him on the shoulder. "Have I ever let you down before?" He ignored the caustic gaze from his lieutenant and shrugged, "tough crowd."   
  
"Colonel Smith!" Chris strode into the jail to come to a stop just in front of the cell. "Is there anything you would like to tell me before I send for the judge and the army to come fetch you?"  
  
Hannibal looked back at Face, then at Murdock, then turned a smile back to Chris, "Nope."  
  
Chris's eyes narrowed, "If you think that you will be able to get out of this jail before they get here, Colonel, you are mistaken. You try anything...anything....and I will shoot you myself, are we clear?"  
  
"As the finest crystal, Mr. Larabee," Hannibal nodded, still smiling. "But I do have a couple of questions....May I ask what you have done with the sisters? And is Yosemite all right?"  
  
Chris regarded him for a moment before answering. "I would have thought you'd have asked about your man."   
  
Hannibal dropped the smile, "Oh, I know you'll take care of him."  
  
Chris nodded slowly, "Yosemite will be fine. He lost a lot of blood, but Nathan got him cleaned and stitched up in time. As for the sisters, they are currently on their way to meet up with the rest of their order, accompanied by two of my men."  
  
Hannibal nodded, "Thank you."  
  
Chris grimaced, "They wanted me to let you go."  
  
"They were threatened long before they left to build the mission, but could not find anyone to protect them on the journey. The army is spread too thin as it is, and would not have been able to follow them into Mexico, which, incidentally, is where we were attacked the first time. As you can see," he gestured to the outlaws in the other cell, "the bandits were Mexican. So the sisters found and hired us."  
  
Chris pursed his lips, accepting this. "Why did you come back across the border? There had to have been other towns nearer to where you were attacked, and, besides, you're not wanted in Mexico."  
  
Hannibal smiled wryly, "Frankly, it was because I knew your town was here, and only half a day's ride away. BA was hurt and, based on your reputation, I was counting on you helping if they followed us the whole way. You did. Thank you."  
  
Chris snorted, "how did you know that I wouldn't turn you in the minute I found out who you were?"  
  
Hannibal grinned again, "I didn't. But I hoped. Guess I was wrong, eh?"  
  
"Guess so."  
  
"Shame."  
  
"Hmm," Chris backed away and over to the desk. JD looked up. "I sent Josiah and Buck with the sisters, to get them back across the border. Set up a two man watch here." He looked at the two other cells, one of which was set up like an impromptu clinic, with Nathan, Ezra and Vin taking care of the injured. Ezra got to his feet and turned as he felt Chris's eyes on his back. The gunslinger shook his head at him, and Ezra turned away again, a flash of annoyance crossing the gambler's face. This was not his fault, darn it.  
  
Chris looked back at JD who was pretending not to notice what was going on, and rapped his knuckles on the desk again.   
  
"I'll be at the telegraph office, then the saloon, if you need me."  
  
"Sure thing, Chris."  
  
As he left, Ezra got the man whose leg he was bandaging to hold onto it himself, then took off after Chris, ignoring the outlaw's startled "hey!"  
__________________________________  
  
"Chris!"  
  
Chris turned around, waiting as Ezra caught up to him. The gambler tried smiling, but gave up quickly under the stormy glare.  
  
"I...uh, look, I realize that this may sound odd, but I feel I must intercede on behalf of Colonel and his men."  
  
"I don't want to hear it, Ezra."  
  
"Why? Listen, I know you're angry, but it was not their fault that Yosemite was hurt. Well, maybe it was a little, but I'm sure they didn't provoke the incident and...."  
  
"I'm not arguing with you Ezra. Those men are fugitives. I'm doing what I should have done the minute I learned who they were."  
  
"Excuse me? When exactly were you given a badge to wear? We were hired to protect this town, Chris, not arrest every man with a warrant against his name that passes through."  
  
"Passes through? They shot up the livery, Ezra! You call that passing through?"  
  
"Chris, please, I need you to trust me on this. Those men...."  
  
"Why are you so intent to let them go? What are they to you?"  
  
Ezra's mouth opened, then he shut it. Frowning, he shook his head, "They, uh, they...look, it isn't something I like to talk about, but I know that they are good men. I owe them. All I ask is that you trust me enough to consider why it was they were here and...."  
  
"Enough, Ezra. If you think I'm going to help some outlaws simply because you feel you owe them something, then I'm sorry. That's not good enough."  
  
"Chris, please, I realize that I am not your favorite person right now...."  
  
"And you never will be, Ezra. This argument is over." Chris stalked away, leaving the gambler frowning in the middle of the road. Then the frosty green eyes narrowed, and the gambler balled his hands into fists.   
______________________________________  
  
For several hours a fairly quiet spell crept over the town, the only excitement being when the hotel manager and Mr. Chambers came to complain about being duped by Face. Ezra soon had them quieted...and even paid their bill, much to the surprise of everyone except Chris.   
  
In the meantime, Yosemite, according to Nathan, was much improved, and, though he had torn his stitches, the one called BA was also resting comfortably. Ezra had also sent JD to fetch the men's saddlebags from the livery, for which Face was extremely grateful. The lieutenant had tried to convince Vin and JD to let him have a bath before changing, but it did not go over well. He obviously asked the wrong people. Regardless, he was clearly very happy to shed his priest's costume, in favor of something more recognizable for a man of his ilk.   
  
In other words, after he changed, he looked like Ezra.  
  
Dark blue pinstriped breeches underscored a lighter blue silk waistcoat and navy three quarter length swallow-tail jacket, atop a nicely ruffled white silk shirt. When Inez had come across to bring them so food for lunch, it had taken JD pushing her out the door to get her to leave. All the kid could think was that it was a good thing that neither Buck nor Ezra had been there.   
  
When Chris and Nathan arrived to take the night shift, Ezra was in the cell with the three A-Team members while Vin watched from the open door. The gambler was deep into a poker game with the blond lieutenant. Even the outlaws in the next cell were craning to see through the bars. The game was that good.  
  
Chris was about to call a stop to this, annoyed that the cell had been left open, but Vin shushed him.  
  
"They've been at this for an hour, Chris. I ain't seen Ezra this taxed since his ma was last in town. This guy's good. They were even for a bit, but then Face started winning. You can see, he's on a streak."  
  
Indeed, of the money sitting on the floor there was about forty dollars in the pot, with only ten dollars still in Ezra's bank and almost thirty in Face's.  
  
"Meet and raise ten," the blond man said evenly, putting three fives onto the pot.  
  
Picking up his last ten dollars, Ezra placed it on the top. "Call," he said quietly.  
  
"Somehow I thought you might," Face grinned. "Two of a kind, Aces and eights."  
  
Ezra sighed heavily, causing Face to grin wider and reach for the pot.  
  
"Uh, uh, uh..." Ezra said quietly, placing his own hand over the lieutenant's, "That was not an unhappy sigh, Lieutenant Peck." Tipping his cards so Face could see them, he displayed four sevens. The lieutenant's mouth fell open. "I believe the pot is mine?" Ezra smiled cheekily, his tongue sticking out slightly between his teeth.  
  
In the other cell, half the outlaws cheered and held out their hands, while the other half groaned and passed out bits of cash. Hannibal clapped brightly, while Murdock and Vin laughed. Still grinning, Ezra raked in the cash and started counting it out.  
  
"I believe that means I have sixty-five dollars to your fifteen, Lieutenant," he said, green eyes flashing with delight.  
  
"He's got ya, Face," Hannibal grinned. "I think he's better than you."  
  
Face snorted, crossing his arms. "Don't laugh too hard, Hannibal, that was our emergency money you made me lose."  
  
"Made you lose? If I recall rightly, lieutenant, you said no small town gambler could beat you. When I suggested, merely suggested, that you put some of that lip to the test and increase our emergency cash a little, you did not exactly say no. In fact...."  
  
"I'm afraid that you lieutenant may have been under a misapprehension, Colonel Smith," Ezra said, straightening and rolling the money into a tight wad. "I am not a small town gambler."  
  
"No, he's a big town chiseler," Vin affirmed. "He just lives here now." Ezra tried to glare at him, but when Vin started to laugh, he couldn't maintain the look. He was about retort when he saw Chris standing behind the tracker.  
  
"Uh, I think that will be it for now, gentlemen," the gambler stammered, noticing the dark expression in Chris's eyes. "I think the relief is here."  
  
"Sure you don't want to stay, Ezra?" Chris asked. "I have no qualms about locking you in there with them."  
  
"Ah...no, thank you Mr. Larabee. I'll be going. You coming Vin?" Ezra stepped into the main jail, and waited for the tracker. Vin shook his head at Chris, then handed him the keys and followed Ezra out.  
  
"You're hard on that one," Hannibal noted, as Chris relocked the cell. Nathan was talking to the outlaws in the other cell quietly, to check that he they were all doing okay. Chris looked at the colonel, noting that Face and Murdock had retreated to sit on the single cot, pretending not listen. Face was dealing cards to the tall man.  
  
"I don't recall asking your opinion."  
  
"He's a good man. He doesn't deserve...."  
  
"I repeat," Chris stated, "I did not ask your opinion, and, frankly Colonel Smith, I don't need it. So back off."  
  
Hannibal frowned for the first time that Chris could remember. Slowly, the colonel nodded and backed away, purposefully putting his back to Chris to go watch the game of gin that his men were playing.  
  
"One other thing," Chris said, raising his voice slightly, causing Hannibal to glance at him briefly before again turning to his men, "the judge in these parts, Judge Travis, is about three days away. Your man in the clinic should be fine by then, and able to join you." Hannibal nodded absently to the news, almost as if he didn't care.   
  
With a disgruntled expression, Chris backed away from the cell and looked towards Nathan. For some reason, he suddenly felt really small, as if he had just lost the respect of someone very important. The colonel's just another hired gun, and a fugitive at that, he reminded himself. So why didn't he feel better for that knowledge?  
  
Continued in part three  
  



	3. Part Three

Alpha Males, part three  
  
"Never Turn Your Back" or "Smoking on the Job"  
____________________________________  
  
When Vin and JD arrived the next morning to check on the outlaws, it was to find Chris smoking a cheroot outside the jail. Both tipped their hat at the gunslinger and pushed their way inside. Nathan was sleeping with his head on the desk, and all the outlaws appeared to be sleeping on the floor of their cell.  
  
The A-Team's cell was empty.  
  
"Nathan?" JD shook the healer's shoulder while Vin hastily searched for the keys. Nathan came awake slowly, then frowned as he saw the kid watching him.  
  
"Nathan, where is the colonel and his men?"  
  
"What?" came the still sleepy reply.  
  
"Chris!" Vin pushed open the jail's two doors with a slam, startling the gunslinger. Chris dropped the cheroot to the ground and followed the tracker inside. Vin pointed to the empty cell.  
  
"Damn it! Find me Ezra!" the gunslinger shouted, grabbing the keys that Nathan had been holding in his hands. He'd been sleeping on them, the big iron ring leaving an indentation on his face. JD took off out the door, while Nathan pulled his gun and, without being ordered, went to check on BA at the clinic. Vin woke up the outlaws in their cell, but they looked as bleary eyed and confused as Nathan had.  
  
By the time the healer returned to report that Yosemite had been alone in the clinic, Ezra was pulling on a jacket and receiving a tongue lashing from Chris. It was obvious that the gunslinger thought Ezra had helped them to get away. The gambler's expression was completely nonplussed.  
  
"Chris, I didn't...it wasn't me! Listen, these men are famous for their escapes. Besides, you were here all night, not me. How did you not see them go?"  
  
"I've been outside since the sun came up an hour ago, and Nathan was asleep. You had plenty of time in that hour to see me out here and find a way to get them out."  
  
Ezra shook his head, "I've been asleep. Fast asleep. JD, tell him that you found me asleep." JD nodded and opened his mouth to agree, but Chris held up a hand to forestall him.   
  
"You are staying here to guard these other men. The rest of us are going after them."  
  
"Why? Why can't you just let them go?" Ezra demanded petulantly.  
  
Chris just growled at him, causing Ezra to back up slightly.  
  
"No one escapes from my jail," the gunslinger said quietly, shoving Ezra aside so he could head outside. JD shrugged when Ezra turned to him with a questioning look, and handed him the keys. Vin was already outside, checking the ground for tracks.   
  
In moments, the gambler was alone, leaning against the desk and weighing the keys in his hands. He looked up when horses galloping past indicated the others were headed out of town. Slowly, he stood and wandered to the front door to look across at the saloon.  
  
He gave a brief nod as Face peeked out of the window of Ezra's room. Face smiled back and saluted him.  
___________________________________  
  
A couple of hours later, the same four peacekeepers returned, disgruntled and hot. Chris shot Ezra a dark look as he moved past, which the gambler did not react to except to look away. They had followed tracks, but they disappeared when they reached the river. Splitting up and riding up and down looking for where the tracks came out of the river yielded nothing, and finally, they had had to give up.  
  
None even questioned that the tracks might have been false, placed there by Ezra the night before with BA's help. The gambler had helped BA out of the clinic and taken him someplace "safe" to wait for the others, and BA had helped him how to lay the false trail. Apparently, it had worked.  
  
Except that, though he had no proof, Chris knew.  
  
After putting his horse away, Chris sent the others to the saloon while he went to talk to Ezra. The gambler had retreated inside the jail and was leaning against the desk, playing with his deck of cards. He sprayed them into one hand and put them away when Chris entered.  
  
"Why did you do it?" the gunslinger asked.  
  
"I did not do anything, Mr. Larabee."  
  
Chris sighed, walked over to the gambler and moved to lean against the desk next to him.  
  
"I'm not going to shoot you over this," the gunslinger said quietly, "I just want to know why."  
  
"I honestly have no idea..."  
  
"Damn it!" Before Ezra knew it, Chris had pushed him back and pinned the top of the desk, a hand gripping the gambler's throat, "Stop lying to me! You may have been able to fool me once, a long time ago, but I know you too well now. You think I am a fool?"  
  
"You're...you're choking me!" Ezra rasped, bringing his hands up to try and pull Chris's hand from his throat.  
  
"Tell me!" Chris ordered, pressing harder. Ezra shut his eyes, feeling the blood pumping in his head, losing oxygen. His fingers tightened around Chris's arm, desperately trying to get air. In the background, the outlaws in the cells started to cheer, egging Chris on.   
  
"Tell me!" the gunslinger shouted again, his own head beginning to throb. He could see the blue tinge rising on Ezra's face, feel the straining heartbeat beneath his fingers and the tightening muscles. Ezra just opened his eyes slightly, then let go with his hands, his chin trembling as he stared up at the man holding him.   
  
Chris's arm shook, and, as abruptly as he had grabbed Ezra's neck, he let go.  
  
The gambler gasped, his chest heaving as it drew in oxygen through the bruised airway. Groans and disappointed complaints echoed from the cells. Chris whipped around, pulled his gun and shot into the air over their heads to shut them up. They did.  
  
Ezra was still breathing heavily, holding his throat with a shaking hand as he got himself upright again off the desk. Chris glared at him a second longer then, angry with himself, began to walk out of the jail.  
  
"Wait," the gambler gasped.  
  
Chris stopped, but he didn't turn.  
  
"I did it...because they saved my life."  
  
Chris paused, "Your life?" he turned slowly to look sideways at the gambler. Ezra seemed to be focused on the wall opposite the desk. Chris frowned, "Why didn't they recognize you?"  
  
"I wasn't alone when they did it; they saved a lot of men that day." He looked at Chris, the sun streaming in the doors lighting his pale face. "I was...I was up in the Black Hills, hanging around some miners, trying to get a piece of a gold mine." He took another breath; they were coming more evenly now. "This was before the Hills were subdued by Makenzie, before Custer's death. Truth be told, the miners were where they weren't supposed to be, something I learned to my chagrin a little too late. We got trapped, penned in by a band of Sioux and Cheyenne, and, more than likely, we would have died if Colonel Smith and his men hadn't come in after us." Ezra had started to twist his gold ring around his finger, the light glinting off the surface catching Chris's eyes. "This was before the A-Team were black-listed by the army and accused of that ridiculous crime." He sighed, "I owed them."  
  
Chris stood stock still, watching Ezra quietly. The gambler frowned slightly, his pale green eyes turned again to focus once more on the wall. Finally, Chris grimaced.  
  
"I trusted you, Ezra."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You should have told me about them immediately."  
  
Ezra didn't respond. Chris pursed his lips.  
  
"Well, you succeeded. You got them out. What that means for your future here, I don't know."  
  
Ezra nodded slowly, expecting this. Chris was massaging his hand, which had cramped up. The gunslinger walked slowly to the door and leaned against the frame, letting the sun warm him. A sudden snapping sound had him looking back at the gambler.   
  
Ezra had released his derringer, and was just looking at it. After a second, he pushed it back into his sleeve and looked languidly up at Chris. There was no challenge in that gaze, just plain fact. He could have shot Chris at any time when the gunslinger was choking him, had he really wanted to.  
  
Chris looked away again to the street outside.  
  
"That is how you can trust me, Chris," Ezra informed him quietly, calmly smoothing down the sleeve, "I'll be there to guard your back, to follow you wherever you go, to be there when you need me. I won't run out on you, and you know it. I...I'll even let you kill me, if that is what it takes." He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. When Chris still didn't speak, Ezra licked his dry lips, "But this was not one of those times. This time you were wrong."  
  
Chris sneered and pulled another cheroot from his pocket.   
  
Ezra sighed, "I would have told you, but, when they first arrived, I didn't think I had the right to proclaim their identity without their permission, and, then, after you locked them up, I...I hesitated, embarrassed I suppose, seeing as it was not one of the more stellar parts of my past. But I did try. You turned your back before I could finish. You didn't want to listen to me. You made that clear."  
  
Chris blew the air out of his cheeks and shook his head, "Was it so hard to find me and make me listen to you?"  
  
"I shouldn't have had to. I asked you to trust me about them, but you wouldn't." He shrugged, "I was foolish to think you would, I suppose."  
  
At this, Chris frowned, "How am I supposed to trust you when you hide things?"  
  
"I did not realize I had a monopoly on that skill, Mr. Larabee, but I do seem to have a monopoly on your enmity. I am fairly certain that, had it been one of the others who asked, things would have been vastly different."  
  
Chris nodded, conceding the truth of the statement, "Maybe, but, Christ, Ezra, you bring it on yourself."  
  
"On the contrary, I would say that you bring it out of me."  
  
Chris didn't answer, he just continued to frown. Ezra stared at the wall, his poker face firmly in place.   
  
The whole jail was silent for almost five minutes. Not even one of the outlaws spoke. They were simply watching, waiting. Outside, the world bustled by. Chris could see JD and Nathan sitting in the window of the saloon, also watching him, while Vin leaned casually against the outside wall, blowing tunelessly on his harmonica.  
  
"Out of curiosity, what crime are the A-Team accused of?" the gunslinger asked. The sudden noise startled Ezra slightly, who shrugged.  
  
"Don't you know?" he asked. "Desertion. Hannibal Smith refused to be Custer's lieutenant-colonel. You know what Custer did to the Southern Cheyenne and Black Kettle? Massacring the entire tribe, including the woman and children, without provocation? Well, he was sent North to do the same to the Sioux, Cheyenne and whatever other Indians he could find. Colonel Smith and his men were already there, having been fighting with the rampaging Sioux for a while, but they never killed women or children. When he heard what Custer had done down south, Smith refused to work with him; and when he was told he had no choice, he left. His three most loyal officers followed him."  
  
Chris raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Then the dime novel got it wrong?"  
  
"Dime novel?"  
  
"Yes, it said they were accused of a crime they didn't commit."  
  
"Oh that. No, that is true. Custer was too embarrassed by the desertion of four of the most decorated veterans of the civil war to let them get off. The same week that the A-Team deserted, the First National Bank in Cheyenne, Wyoming was robbed. An eyewitness said that it was the A-Team. The eyewitness was one of Custer's captains."   
  
Chris pursed his lips, his mind taking in this information slowly. Stories about the Sioux and Cheyenne had drifted down, but fiction and reality were never clear, especially when it came to the Indians. But he did know that a lot of blood had run along those northern trails. If these men had been on the front lines, then maybe they did deserve some extra consideration. It was a horrible thing to take part in a war where neither side was blameless and had no possible winners.   
  
Ezra stood up from of the desk, "Mr. Larabee...I am sorry for lying to you. I am not sorry for helping them escape."  
  
"I know."  
  
"So...what are you going to do now?"  
  
"Get a drink, then get some sleep." He pushed himself away from the doorframe and threw the butt of his cheroot to the dirt outside. Then he looked across at Ezra, who was now watching him again, a slightly worried expression on his face. Chris chuckled and shook his head.  
  
"Want some breakfast?"  
  
Ezra narrowed his eyes slightly, but he nodded.  
  
"I'll bring you some," Chris smiled, "the best Inez can create, on me."  
  
Ezra smiled back, looking to his feet, "Thanks."  
  
"And next time...I'll try to do better."  
  
Ezra snorted, "Does that mean, um, that you'll get me my breakfast before trying to choke me?" he ribbed.  
  
Chris chuckled and nodded, tipping his hat as he walked out the door and over to the saloon.  
  
Inside, the outlaws started complaining about not getting satisfaction. They'd wanted a fight, damn it!  
____________________________  
  
Continued in part four  



	4. Part Four

Alpha Males, part four  
  
"Not a Good Time to be Short Two Men" or "The Turn Around"  
______________________________________________  
  
"Colonel?" Face asked, looking down at the dust cloud coming up from the south. They were three abreast atop a tall canyon wall, looking down into Mexico. BA was sleeping peacefully behind them on a blanket roll in the camp they had set up. They were only about half a day from Four Corners.  
  
"It's them," Hannibal confirmed, lowering his spyglass. "The rest of the gang that was hunting the nuns."  
  
"The Federales should have had them in jail by now!" Face complained. "Damn it, we left them those men tied up like hogtied mavericks!"  
  
"Umm, do I see more than the score we left there?" Murdock was peering down into the valley, his sharp eyes narrowed against the bright sunshine. "That cloud is too big for just twenty pigs."  
  
"No, you're right, Murdock. It is larger. A lot larger."  
  
"A lot larger?" Face looked at Hannibal, puzzled. "What is a lot larger?"  
  
"We left twenty men in front of that Mexican jail after that initial attack. But there are closer to eighty men riding along the river down there, riding with the gang."  
  
"Eighty? Did you say eighty?"  
  
"Well, including the gang, I guess that makes a hundred men."  
  
"A hundred? My god, Hannibal, that's an army," Face lowered his head.  
  
"We have to go back. They're going to level Four Corners getting their friends out of jail."  
  
"But Hannibal, shouldn't we...."  
  
"Face, we're not leaving Chris Larabee and his men to face them alone."  
  
"I know that but...."  
  
"Face, no arguments!"  
  
"And I'm not arguing with you," Face snapped. "Of course we go back. But shouldn't we try to slow them down? The canyon narrows not far from here, a few well placed charges would create a rather nice roadblock."  
  
Hannibal looked at his lieutenant, and a slow grin grew on his face.  
  
"I'll get the dynamite," Face bowed back, heading back to the camp.   
  
"And I'll wake up BA," Murdock laughed, bouncing away.  
__________________________________________________  
  
"Chris!"   
  
Chris looked up from where he was tending to Solon in the livery. His horse had picked up a limp, probably form a stone, and the gunslinger was checking him out.   
  
"In here, JD!" He dropped Solon's foreleg to the ground and straightened up, his back cracking slightly.   
  
Moments later, the kid ran into the stables, a telegraph in hand, "Buck and Josiah sent a telegraph. Seems that the men we have in jail are part of a larger group. They were in a Mexican prison, but they broke out and took a whole bunch of prisoners with them."  
  
Chris frowned, taking the paper, "Are they in trouble?"  
  
"No. They only knew because some federales protecting the sisters down there were talking about it. They think the escaped prisoners are on their way here."  
  
"How many?" Chris unfolded the note, his brow furrowed.   
  
JD shook his head, "The note says that there were twenty in the original gang, but they don't know how many of the rest of the prisoners might be coming with them."  
  
Chris scanned the note, though it was pointless now. He screwed it up into a ball and threw it to the ground, his jaw tense.   
  
"Damn that colonel," he muttered. "JD, telegraph the judge, find out how close he is, and write to Forts Heritage and Samson, see if they have any men on maneuvers nearby." The kid nodded at the orders and took off, while Chris looked once more at Solon. Patting the horse's hide, he headed out and started towards the Clarion.  
  
"Mr. Larabee."  
  
Chris stopped and turned slowly, not hiding the surprise on his face. Over by the saloon, Ezra stood from where he had been sitting and reading, the book slipping from his fingers.   
  
Colonel Smith stood slightly in front of his men, no smile on his face, calmly chewing his cigar. He was flanked by his three men, Face just to his right, Murdock supporting BA on the left. Face held a rifle across his arms, but the hold was loose.  
  
The sound of someone jogging over to join him did not have Chris turning around, instead, he simply waited, meeting the colonel's gaze evenly. Ezra skidded to a stop at his side, watching the confrontation with a worried expression.  
  
The colonel pulled the cigar from his mouth, and frowned, "We've come to tell you that there are close to a hundred men headed your way, coming to break those men out of jail. We slowed them down, boxing them into a canyon half a day from here, but it won't hold them for long."  
  
"A hundred men," Chris repeated, his voice registering neither surprise nor even emotion.  
  
Hannibal nodded, lowering his head slightly. "We are well aware that this is our fault. So we have come not only to warn you, but to tell you that we will work to take care of the problem by ourselves." Next to him, Face sighed heavily at the statement, but he did not disagree. Hannibal continued, "However, if we do not succeed, you should be prepared. It is likely we can pare the group down, but it is also likely that some may make it through."  
  
Chris nodded slowly, then looked at Ezra. The gambler groaned theatrically, already sensing what was coming next. Chris looked back at the colonel and pursed his lips.  
  
"You escaped from my jail," he said simply.   
  
Hannibal frowned, "This is not the time to discuss pleasantries, Mr. Larabee."  
  
"You brought a gang of outlaws to my town, Colonel Smith, and one of my citizens got caught in the crossfire. Then you used one of my men to get out of jail, making me question his loyalty." (Next to Chris, Ezra suddenly found his shoes fascinating). "Now you come to warn us that even more men, virtually an army, will be descending upon us when we are short two men, two men who were sent to finish your job for you. Frankly, I am going to need more than an offer of help for me not to turn around and throw you back in jail where you belong."  
  
Hannibal smiled, "You are a single-minded man, Mr. Larabee."  
  
"Yep, especially when I am really pissed off."  
  
Hannibal chuckled and nodded, "We have that in common," he noted. "So what do you want?"  
  
"Not much. Just one reason why I shouldn't have Ezra lock you up again." In the background, Ezra stifled a second groan, and Murdock smiled in his direction. He couldn't help but think that Hannibal and Chris Larabee had something else in common as well.  
  
"One reason, huh?" the colonel turned to Face.  
  
"I can give him a hundred reasons," the colonel's conman muttered.   
  
"Face, be helpful," Hannibal chastised, though his lips had quirked into a smile at the remark.  
  
"How about the fact that we are the good guys in this whole mess?" Face said again, meeting Chris's eyes. The gunslinger merely blinked slowly, and Face shrugged.  
  
BA growled and shifted to take some of his weight off of Murdock, "We don't got time for this. We came back to help, you stubborn fool. You're short two men. You need us."   
  
Chris leaned hard on one leg and shook his head, "That may be true, but it's still not what I want."  
  
Ezra licked his lips and cleared his throat, "Chris, if I may...."  
  
"No, you may not."   
  
Ezra backed up, his head down again. Hannibal watched him curiously, then looked around to see Vin, JD and Nathan had appeared and had effectively flanked them. The colonel was impressed, and his lips quirked even more into a smile around his cigar. After a moment, he pulled it out again.  
  
"You want a promise, don't you?" Hannibal asked.  
  
Chris met his gaze evenly, his lips quirking slightly into a smile.  
  
"All right. You have my word. When this is over, you can put us back in your jail."  
  
"Hannibal!" Face frowned, watching his leader. The colonel merely reached back and patted his second's arm.  
  
Chris nodded again, "And you won't try to escape."  
  
The colonel's eyes narrowed, "And we won't try to escape...from your jail."  
  
Chris nodded, accepting the qualification. He would not have expected anything less.  
  
"This just gets better and better," Face moaned, looking heavenward as if for answers. Hannibal chuckled and stepped forward to extend his hand. Chris took it.  
  
"We need a plan," the colonel drawled.  
  
"After you," the gunslinger replied, leaning back to indicate they should head to the saloon. Hannibal grinned and the two leaders walked slowly away, already throwing out ideas. Ezra followed them with his eyes, hearing the word "dynamite" several times from the silver haired colonel's lips.   
  
Coming up next to him, Vin slapped Ezra's arm in affection, "Hector and Ajax, eh?" he asked.  
  
"More like Scylla and Charybdis," the gambler replied mournfully, "and us stuck in the middle."  
  
Nathan was checking BA's bandage, while JD began talking animatedly with Murdock about...something or other. Face walked across to Vin and Ezra, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he came.  
  
"Fun boss you got there," the blond man said companionably.  
  
"He helps pass the time," Vin agreed.   
  
"Yeah, he's good for a laugh," Ezra agreed darkly, looking over at the saloon. Face gave him a lopsided grin, then ran his hand through his thick blond hair, looking as if he were working up to something.  
  
"Tell me, um, Mr. Standish, when we played cards at the jail," Face looked up, "were you letting me win before taking that final pot?"  
  
Ezra's eyes flew back to him at the mention of cards, and a dimpled smirk creased his features in confirmation. Face huffed a little and leaned on one leg.  
  
"How did you know?" Ezra asked.  
  
"A feeling. I usually don't lose. And never like that. How did you do it?"  
  
"I saw you cheating, and let you cheat. Then, in the last game, I cheated better."  
  
Face chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn. So why did you let me win for so long?"  
  
"For a while, I wanted you to win, to make up for Chris putting you in jail. Then I changed my mind and decided to help you escape instead." He shrugged, "Truth is, I didn't want to admit that you were better than me at both of my chosen professions."  
  
Face frowned, "Chosen professions?"  
  
Ezra nodded, "I saw your performance with Mr. Chambers. I was also a witness to some fast talking you did up in Deadwood once. I have always tried to emulate your skill at the con, lieutenant. Without question, you are the best I have ever seen. It took you, what, less than five minutes to get not only free lodging, but also free food at the hotel? Even my mother, whom I would contest is a great artist in her own right, is not as good as you."  
  
Face's smile faltered slightly, "Are you serious?"  
  
"Absolutely. Tell me, how do you do it?"  
  
"Oh don't ask him that!" BA growled. "You'll get an answer!" Face shot an icy glare at the artillery sergeant. BA sneered back.  
  
"I'm sorry?" Ezra asked, standing up slightly straighter.   
  
"He starts talking, he don't shut up," the sergeant replied, pulling away from Nathan. Meanwhile, Murdock had chosen the distraction to walk across to Face, sit down, and lean against the conman's leg. Face tried to swat him away, but Murdock just smiled and wrapped his arms around the leg.  
  
Face frowned as he tried to shake his leg free, "Murdock, off! And as for you, BA, I do not..."  
  
"The answer's real simple, gambling man," BA replied, ignoring his lieutenant, "It's 'cause he got that face. Everyone seems to believe every word he says, no matter how much BS spills out of it. How do you think he got his nickname?"  
  
Face's mouth fell open, "BA! I take offense at such a simple...."  
  
"It's true blue, Facey-wacey," Murdock sighed, closing his eyes. Face smacked his head. Murdock wasn't fazed, and wrapped his arms more tightly around the leg he was leaning on.  
  
"Conning is an art," Face argued. "It has method...."  
  
"And madness!" Murdock chimed in. Face whacked his head again, and Murdock took the opportunity to lean back and bat his brown eyes at the blond man. Face tried to wrench his foot away in a sharp pull, but the captain had a solid grip.  
  
"Don't forget a whole lotta bluster and blow," BA finished. Face's head snapped up, glare in full force. The grimace fell from the artillery sergeant's face as he started to snicker.  
  
Vin leaned on Ezra's shoulder, a grin on his face, while JD crossed his arms and whispered a question to Nathan. The healer shrugged, and mouthed the word "certifiable," back at the boy.   
  
Over by the saloon, Hannibal stuck his head out of the batwing doors, "Face!" The summons, though he only used one name, was clearly meant to encompass all three officers.  
  
Next to the colonel, Chris stood and looked pointedly at Vin. The tracker nodded imperceptibly and plucked at Ezra's sleeve. Time to join the leaders. Murdock instantly let go of his lieutenant's leg and jumped to his feet, causing Face to stagger slightly.  
  
"Looks like we have a plan," JD smiled at Nathan as uncrossed his arms and followed the group over to the jail.   
  
"Wonder who's it is?" the healer replied.  
  
"If it involves dynamite," Face informed them, "It's Hannibal's."  
  
"If it involves a coffin full of rocks," JD chimed, "then it's Chris's!"  
  
"No JD," Vin countered sourly, touching the small of his back, "If it involves a coffin full of rocks, it's yours."  
_______________________________________  
  
"They have to come across the river," Chris was saying as they wandered over. "At this time of year, it is fairly calm, but it's still too deep to traverse in most places. Now you say they're coming up through these canyons here," the gunslinger's finger trailed a line along the map, "which means they'll be crossing somewhere near Breaker's Pass, here," he tapped the map.  
  
"How far is that from here?" Hannibal asked, peering at the legend.  
  
"Half an hour ride, at most. How long do you think you managed to delay the outlaws?"  
  
Hannibal shook his head, "Maybe half a day. They'd reach that pass in about four hours, I'd say."  
  
Vin peered over Chris's shoulder, "What are you thinking?" the tracker asked.  
  
"Using the river to block them in, then discouraging them from coming any further," Chris replied. "The Colonel wants to place charges around the edge to knock the men off their horses, then, in the melee, we go in and take them out."  
  
Vin shook his head, "I don't like messing with that river, Chris. She's big and mean and too important for the folks in this area as a source of water. We'd poison her with all that blood."  
  
Chris leaned back, one elbow on the bar, "You have a better idea?"  
  
"We take them out in Four Corners."  
  
"No," Chris shook his head, "I'm not endangering the town. Besides, Mary would kill me."  
  
"They're going to be coming here anyway, Chris, if any get past," Vin reminded him. "And she'll kill you anyway, since you've been keeping her in the dark about all of this." Chris shot him a grimace. Behind them, Ezra cleared his throat.  
  
"Uh, Chris, it seems to me that one could get badly turned around in those canyons, especially if they'd been confused by dynamite," the gambler said, sidling up behind Vin to look over his shoulder at the map.  
  
"Particularly if they don't know the area," Face nodded from where he was standing next to Murdock.  
  
"Or speak the language," Ezra added, looking over at him.  
  
"And if someone were there to throw them off track..." Face smiled.  
  
"A few well placed rockslides, a couple of helpful strangers...." Ezra was watching Face carefully, his eyes dancing. Face was grinning back.  
  
"It's a good idea. Think you can you pull it off?"  
  
"With your help, lieutenant, definitely."  
  
"What do the rest of you think?" Face asked, looking around.  
  
He was met by a sea of blank faces. Hannibal and Chris looked at each other.  
  
"Do they have their own language?" JD wondered aloud. Murdock grinned.  
  
"What are you two yammering on about," BA growled.  
  
"A simple con," the gambler explained. "After all, out here, one town looks much like another, especially if you have never been here before. Hell, just in the last three years, I've seen three towns grow and fade, as transient as rainwater in the desert."  
  
"Are you fluent in Spanish?" Face asked, already several steps ahead as he peered at the map. "Most of them will be Mexican."  
  
"Si Senor," Ezra nodded.   
  
"Woah, stop doing that!" JD said. "You two are scaring me."  
  
"Sorry, kid," Ezra replied, "Our idea is just this. Steer those men to a different Four Corners and take them out there. That way, they'll have nowhere else to go but back under the rocks they slithered out from."  
  
"A different...?" JD looked at Nathan, and the healer shrugged back.  
  
"We can't build a town in four hours, you fools," BA growled, lifting his leg up where Nathan had sat him down.  
  
"We don't have to," Face shook his head.  
  
"There's a ghost town not far from here, called Freedom. It's completely intact, including a jail," Ezra said.  
  
"Ezra, that's a good hour southeast from here," Vin said, pointing to its location on the map. "How...."  
  
"Look at the way the canyons run, Vin," Ezra said, leaning over his shoulder to point the way. "Take a few wrong turns and..." his finger trailed a different path than the one leading to Breaker's Pass, and ended up close to the ghost town. Then he smiled.  
  
"Ezra, these men aren't stupid, they'll know they're headed in the wrong direction," Nathan complained. Ezra looked over at Face, and the blond man shook his head.  
  
"It's amazing," Face replied to the healer, "what people will believe with a little help."  
________________________________  
  
Continued in part five  



	5. Part Five

Alpha Males, part five  
  
"Men of Thebes"  
  
(Note: I don't speak Spanish, so I simply placed everything that would be spoken in Spanish in parentheses)  
________________________________________  
  
"Will this work?" JD asked, riding up next to Nathan. They were all heading at a quick clip in the direction of the ghost town, all except Face and Ezra who had gone to throw off the outlaws.  
  
"We had better hope so. I don't like relying on those two, though. If they fail, they'll be no one in Four Corners to meet the outlaws. Buck and Josiah are meeting us in Freedom, and the army is a whole day away from being able to back up the town."  
  
"Yeah, I mean, no offense to Ezra and all, but we're putting a lot of faith in his and that other guy's ability to trick all those men," JD shook his head, pulling a bit on Hero's reins as the horse started moving a little too quickly. It was sensing his rider's nervousness.  
  
"You boys really don't trust Ez, do you?" Vin interrupted, moving to ride up next to them. JD and Nathan both looked at him sheepishly, wearing expressions similar to the one's they'd worn when Ezra accused them about not trusting him with that $10,000.   
  
"It's not that, Vin, it's just...what if he fails?"  
  
"What, you saying you want to turn around?" Vin replied quietly. "Leave Ezra and Face to the wolves alone after they lead the outlaws to an empty town? Even I may admit some doubt when it comes to Ezra and great sums of money, but when it comes to us, to Four Corners, and to his ability to spin a yarn, I'll place my money on him anytime." The tracker shot them both dark looks, then rode forward.   
  
Nathan looked down at the ground slipping past, while JD focused on some spot in the distance.  
  
"Fear is normal, and maybe even just," Murdock said lightly, slipping up next to them, "but slandering your friend and maligning his trust? Men of Thebes, I have faith in all of you; how can you not feel it too?"   
  
Nathan frowned, "Look, Mr. Murdock, I don't think...."  
  
The captain shook a hand at him, his eyes taking on a focus and clarity heretofore absent, "Listen to me," he said softly, "Face is the best at what he does. He says he can do this, then he will. As to your friend, I'm guessing he's pretty good as well, considering how easily he beat Face at cards. Count on those outlaws being turned around and delivered to Freedom, and worry only that we will be ready to receive them when they arrive." He loosed his hold on his paint and fell back to ride next to BA, who was watching them from behind. The huge man sneered at their backs, then concentrated on something he was making in his hands. Murdock immediately started rhyming again, much to the big man's annoyance.  
  
Impressed, Nathan blew out a breath, "Well, huh. That was pretty clear, wasn't it. You know, maybe, like his friend, Murdock is also not what he seems."  
  
JD snorted, "Yeah, but, um, Nathan? Did he call us, Men of Thebes? I mean, isn't that in Texas somewhere or something?"  
____________________________________   
  
Ezra leaned across Chaucer's neck, peering into the yellow canyon. Sure enough, not far below, about a hundred men were using themselves and their horses to try and shift some large boulders blocking their way. It had apparently not occurred to any of them to turn around and try a different route through the canyons, or even to climb up one of the sides and look for another means of escape. Hannibal had been generous giving them as little time as four hours. At the rate the outlaws were going, it would take them the rest of the day.  
  
"They look determined," Ezra said jokingly, looking over at Face. The blond man was scratching at his hair, which he had covered with mud to darken it. There was also dirt on his face, on the poncho they had clad him in, and to top it all off, he was wearing a dark brown, low slung sombrero. Mud caked that as well, and some dung. He kept pulling on the hat, clearly unhappy. When he caught Ezra looking at him, he smiled.  
  
"I hate hats," the conman admitted. "Make my head too hot. 'Course, BA tells me that it's because my head is filled with hot air." He adjusted the ugly thing on his head.  
  
"Is he really going to fight you when we get back?" Ezra asked, remembering the big man's threats right before they left. He was still angry about the graze he had gotten because of Face's "carelessness."  
  
"Yeah, probably. But he mostly said that to tell me he expects me to come back. It's his way of giving me confidence."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Nope."  
  
Ezra pursed his lips, "the four of you...do you never doubt each other?"  
  
Face glanced askance at the gambler, "Sometimes. I sometimes wonder if Murdock is going to go just a little too far over the edge, or if Hannibal is just going to go too far, or if BA will back-up one of his threats with real force...but then I remember that we're a team. When we work together, we're at our best," he grinned. "In other words, we're just like you seven."  
  
Ezra snorted, "What?"  
  
"The magnificent seven? The defenders of Four Corners? Oh come on, don't tell me you are unaware of the reputation you guys are building. Murdock has an addiction to dime novels, and he read yours several times. It was because of his urging that we came to your town in the first place - he has a thing for meeting heroes. He's been comparing you to the seven champions of Thebes in that Greek play by Aeschylus."  
  
Ezra blinked. Normally he was good with literature references, but while he knew Sophocles' Oedipus trilogy, he was somewhat forgetful of the others. Face shrugged, seeing the expression.  
  
"Yeah, I didn't know it either. Murdock has a brain that is too big for his head. In some ways, I think that's what drove him nuts during the civil war, that and his ability to see right into the heart of folks," the lieutenant sighed, then shook off the cobwebs of memories. "In any case, the play is called Seven Against Thebes, about seven champions chosen to guard the seven gates of Thebes against the attacking Argive army. They won, the seven men, although the king, Eteocles, I think Murdock called him, was killed at his gate despite being told to send someone else. He was Oedipus' son, see, and at the gate he chose, he faced his brother Polyneices, who had allied himself with the Argives. Part of the terrible destiny of that family - they both died."  
  
"And their sister Antigone got in trouble for burying Polyneices with Eteocles," Ezra nodded, remembering. Then he chuckled, "So Murdock thinks we're champions?"  
  
"Yep. After he met you, he even named you by your Greek counterparts. He was yammering on about it right before we were attacked yesterday morning. You're Hyperbius, if I recall, the risk-taker at Athena's gate."  
  
Ezra shook his head and laughed again, "You're right, Murdock is nuts."  
  
Face smiled crookedly. "No," he said slowly, "no he's not, not really."   
  
Neither man spoke for a minute, just continued to watch the slow efforts of the outlaws grunting and groaning below. It was amazing that none of the outlaws had turned around, or even looked up. Apparently, intelligence was not something these men had in abundance.   
  
This was a good thing.  
  
Ezra looked back at Face, seeing him shove up at the hat again. "If you don't use a hat, how do you keep the sun out of your eyes?" the gambler asked, genuinely curious.  
  
"Oh, I have a white Stetson I wear when riding that's not very heavy. But I take it off as soon as I can," he shrugged. "Shall we go?"  
  
Ezra looked down at his own clothes, borrowed off a cheap traveling salesman in town. Chaucer shifted under him, annoyed at his own disguise. He had been outfitted with more bits and pieces than a junkman, which was the persona Ezra had been aiming for, and the horse was not happy about it. Face was riding his white mare, which had also been splattered with mud. She was about as happy as Chaucer was.  
  
"After you," Ezra grinned. Face nodded and headed south, in a direction that would take them down somewhere behind the outlaws.  
_______________________________  
  
"Ho! Hola! Por favor!" Face rode up slowly, wiping at his nose and looking as pathetic as possible. His mare had her head down, shuffling along slowly as if she had been ridden all day. Ten men looked up from where they were lounging around a small campfire, toasting something that looked suspiciously like a prairie dog.  
  
"Hola," one of the men replied, looking up and down at the stranger, "(what do you want?)"  
  
"(I'm wondering what is happening? Is the way blocked?)"  
  
"(Yeah, you could say that. Where you headed?)"  
  
"(Just to a small town on the far side, Passo del Norte, it's called. Guess I'll have to go around now.)"  
  
"(Passo del Norte? Mister, you got that wrong. Town on the other side of this is Four Corners.)"  
  
"(Four...oh no, I don't think so. I travel this way every few weeks, friends. This is the way to Passo del Norte. I should know, my wife's there.)" Face shook his head. "(She'll kill me if I'm late. Oh well, that's the way of it. Guess I'll have to go around now.)" Face pulled at his mare's reins, and she begrudgingly started to turn herself around.  
  
The outlaws were looking at each other, puzzlement on their faces. The one who'd been talking frowned.  
  
"(Wait! You absolutely sure that this isn't the way to Four Corners?)"  
  
Face peered back at him as if he were crazy, "(Would I be going this way if it was? Believe me, if this was the way to Four Corners, I would be headed in the opposite direction. I just came from there.)"  
  
"(Just came...What are you talking about?)"  
  
"(Listen, fellas, I don't have time for this. I've got to get back to my wife,)" Face pulled again on the mare's reins, but she continued to fight him.  
  
"(He telling the truth?)" one of the other outlaws asked the first.   
  
"(Hey, you telling the truth?)" the first outlaws called.  
  
Face just gave him a look, then pulled harder on the mare's reins, "(Come on, stupid mule!)" he said loudly. She just stopped moving and put her head down to eat some grass on the hillside. Face sighed loudly, secretly proud at how well trained she was. Meanwhile, two of the outlaws had come up fairly close, watching.  
  
"(Mister! Hold up. If you're so sure, then tell us, where is Four Corners?)"  
  
Face stopped, and scratched at his head, bits of mud dropping from his skin. "(Not far. Just have to backtrack a bit to get there.)" He pointed back the way he came, then swung his arm around to point in an easterly direction. He shrugged, "(I could show you, until I needed to turn to find my own way out of these canyons.)"  
  
The outlaw narrowed his eyes, and walked over to Face to peer up at him. Face gave him a crooked smile, then wiped his nose again with a big sniff. The outlaw rolled his eyes slightly and walked back to his friends.  
  
"(Farmer there smells worse than this whole lot put together,)" the outlaw muttered to his friends. They smiled appropriately. The outlaw shook his head, "(but if he's right, we're wasting our time here. Them that's leading us must've gotten the directions wrong.)"  
  
"(But then who blocked us in?)" one of the others asked. "(Somebody dynamited this canyon to stop us.)"  
  
The lead outlaw narrowed his eyes, and looked back at Face. The conman was still trying to get his mare to turn. He just got her turned when the lead outlaw grabbed her reins to stop them.  
  
"(Why would someone block this way through the canyons?)" he asked gruffly, tugging cruelly on the mare's reins. She whinnied a bit at the rough treatment. Face patted her neck lightly.  
  
"(Someone who doesn't want you to get to Passo Del Norte, I'm guessing. It's a pretty nice place, and the union is thick there. Got a Fort not too far away, to deal with the Apaches. Maybe they saw you coming and decided it'd be cheaper to stop you this way than fighting you.)" Face shrugged. "(All I know is that my wife has got a baby on the way, and if I don't get home soon, she'll never let me leave again.)" He frowned down at the outlaw, and reached down to tug the reins out of the Mexican's grip. Then, slowly, he clicked at the horse and rode off.  
  
The outlaw sneered, "(Ho! Wait. You said you'd show us the way. You a liar?)"  
  
Face turned around in the saddle, the twinkle in his eye hidden by the sombrero, "(I don't believe in lying, mister, and besides, according to the wife, I'm terrible at it. Besides, even if I did lie, why would I lie to you?)"  
___________________________________  
  
Face left the group sometime before the river, tipping his hat and heading in a northwest direction up a slope. The outlaws watched him go, then pushed on. Some were grumbling about the change, not sure they trusted the farmer, and still others wondering whether it really had been the army that had blocked that route. It made them wonder if the union was keeping tabs on them.  
  
The air of nervousness caused a few less brave men to scatter, to head off on their own. All in all, the group was only 85 strong when they reached the thick river.  
  
The twenty outlaws who had been with the original gang tried to reassure the rest, promising plenty of plundering when they reached Four Corners. But they, like their friends now in Four Corners' jail, did not know this side of the border well. They only knew about it at all because one of them had overheard the silver haired leader of the mercenaries mention the town's name before taking off. Then someone in the jail had said they'd heard of Four Corners, and had given them directions. But for some reason, that same man had refused to join them when they'd escaped together, saying he wouldn't go near Four Corners again - too well protected or some such stupidity. Well, so long as it wasn't army, the gang didn't care. They had enough men to take down some American sheriff and his men.  
  
But, regardless, there was still a heavy mantle of distrust weighing them down. They trusted that departing farmer about as much as they trusted each other...which wasn't much.  
  
When they got to the river, they found a junkman watering his horse. He looked up as they rode up, and the fear in his bright green eyes was clear. He backed up to his bay horse, grabbing his pommel in case he had to bolt.  
  
The outlaw in front smiled at him, a huge gap-toothed smile of yellow incisors. "Good afternoon," he said, raising his hand. The junkman nodded back, the fear still bright in his eyes.  
  
"Hiya," he answered shakily.  
  
"Habla usted Espanol?" the outlaw asked.  
  
Ezra shrugged, "Si, un poco."  
  
The outlaw nodded, "(We're looking for Four Corners, you know it?)"  
  
"Four...Four Corners? Yeah, sure. I mean, si senor," Ezra wiped his hands on the front of his denim shirt, and tried to smile.  
  
"(Is it far?)"  
  
"Is it far? No, I mean, um, (it's close to here. Maybe an hour? That way. Just follow the plain's edge.)" Ezra pointed east, his arm shaking slightly. "(In fact, I just came from there. Town's real quiet right now, though, 'cause of the festival over in Eagle Bend. That's another nearby town. Most of the town's there, except the law. They're watching some group in the jail. Mexicans, like yourselves.)" He frowned, then backed up some more, his eyes widening as if he just figured something out, "(Look, um, I'm not from there. You want to tear it apart, that's fine with me. I'm headed to Mexico, myself, see. I'm not a threat.)" He was shaking his hands in front of him wildly, backing up into Chaucer, who didn't react at all. The horse was too busy eating.  
  
The outlaw watched him for a moment longer, then spit in his direction. "(There's nothing I hate more than cowards like you, junkman. You're lucky that you met me on a good day...and that you gave me the news I wanted to hear.)" He pulled hard on his reins, forcing his poor tired horse to rear. Ezra had to work hard to hide a frown at the mistreatment, in order to maintain his facade of fear.  
  
Ezra stepped back some more, shoving Chaucer back to give the outlaws room as they crossed the river. Mentally, he was counting them, pleased to note that they were fewer now. After the last one had passed, he sighed heavily and pulled off his hat to wipe at his brow. Then he bent near the river to wash the dirt from his face. Splashing alerted him to someone else crossing, and he instantly put a hand to his gun.   
  
A second later, he was grinning.  
  
"Howdy," Face smiled. "Looked good from where I was. They on their way?"  
  
"Yep. We go straight across the plain, we should get there before them with plenty of time to spare," Ezra nodded.  
  
Face licked his lips, and plucked at his poncho, "Wonderful. Think I have enough time to get out of these wretched clothes?" His mare whinnied and splashed a bit in the river, happy for the cool water.   
  
Ezra grinned, clamping his hand to his chest, "Man after my own heart!"  
________________________________________  
  
Face grinned as he saw the newly painted signs that hung around the ghost town of Freedom, loving the somewhat obvious lack of creativity. Everything was marked with such clever names as "Four Corners mercantile," "Four Corners Saloon," "Four Corners livery stable," and, of course, "Four Corners Jail." Talk about beating a dead horse.  
  
"Gentlemen!" Ezra called, laughing, "I am impressed!"   
  
Besides the signs, the dust had been cleared off the boardwalks and water added to the troughs from the town's well. The street had also clearly been dug up quite a bit, which also gave it a well-worn look. Face led the way, steering them around any suspicious looking piles of dirt. Before them, Murdock and JD were laying down something that looked like a heavily braided clothesline into the ground, while Vin and Nathan were putting the finishing touches on something that looked an awful lot like a wall of newspapers down one alleyway. Stopping near them, Ezra frowned as he dismounted Chaucer, tilting his head at the "wall."  
  
"Dare I ask?" he asked.  
  
"No," Nathan replied. "I'm not sure I get it either." He tapped in a final nail and backed up.   
  
Ezra grinned, "Well, whatever it is, it's lovely."  
  
"I know what it is," Face said cryptically, leaning on one leg and smiling brightly.  
  
"Ezra!"   
  
The gambler and Face turned around to see Buck crossing the street, Josiah behind him. Both had black oil all over their hands. When Ezra gave him a questioning look, Buck laughed.  
  
"Just following the directions of that walking bull of theirs. Creating charges for all that gunpowder they brought down here from town. Since we just got here half an hour before you, we were told we got the dirty job, for being late."  
  
"When are they gonna get here son?" Josiah asked, looking with some interest at the wall.   
  
"Bout an hour, maybe less," Ezra replied automatically to the appellation. "They're coming around the plains edge. Do we have a lookout?"  
  
"Chris and Hannibal are running a circuit."  
  
Ezra arched an eyebrow, "together?"  
  
Josiah grinned, "Yep."  
  
"Well, whaddya know," Ezra grinned.  
  
"Temporary truce," Vin said, nodding, "Never seen so much posturing since I saw two alleycats face off once." Ezra chuckled and elbowed the tracker in the ribs. Vin knocked his hat off.   
  
"I'm going to go see what's left to do," Face said quietly, the feeling of being out of place nudging him away. His mare followed him without being pulled, completely devoted. When she wasn't acting, she was as much in love with her master as any other female. Murdock jogged over and joined him as the lieutenant walked past, asking about timing...and apparently, chickens. JD walked over to join the rest of the seven, his face confused.  
  
"That guy, Murdock?" JD whispered, "He's real fun but...he keeps calling me Melanippus. What is a Melanippus? When I asked, all he said is that I was justice's son. What does that mean?" He looked at Josiah, then Ezra.  
  
"Got me, kid. But he called me Polyphontes earlier," Vin said, picking up his own hat that Ezra had knocked off in retaliation, "something about champion of Artemis."  
  
"Goddess of the hunt," Josiah inserted quietly, though he was also puzzled.  
  
"Called me Aktor," Nathan nodded. "I don't think he meant I was in the theatre, neither."  
  
"I'm guessing, those are three of the seven champions of Thebes," Ezra answered. JD looked at him, then at Josiah. The preacher was grinning.  
  
"From the Aeschylus play?" Josiah asked, his face lighting up. "Now that is amusing!"  
  
"Do you know it, Josiah?" Ezra asked.  
  
"Only vaguely. Read it as a child. Read them all as a child. My mother loved to tell me all the old stories, much to my father's dismay. Seven Against Thebes was a short play, but, now that I think about it, I suppose I can understand the reference. I wonder who I am?"  
  
"Lord Lasthenes," Murdock said, leaning against the wall behind him, "the surly gatekeeper. Old in wisdom, in sinew young." The tall man was grinning, and turned to Buck. "And you, you're Megareus, the great hand to hand fighter, not afraid of anything." Buck grinned back at him, lifting his hat of his head and bowing to the others around him, causing them all to laugh.  
  
"And Chris?" Ezra asked.  
  
Murdock shook his head, "Why he's the king, of course, the helmsman, the hand to guide the state, the eyes that never rest. He says in the beginning, 'I'll choose six men, myself the seventh, And station them against the enemy: Seven champions, each at his gate. This now. I need no messengers, No torrent of word to fire my heart.'" The tall man spread his hands and bowed slightly.   
  
"Chris a king," Buck snorted, "he'll love that."  
  
"You gonna tell him?" Vin asked, his arm propped on Ezra's shoulder, leaning against the gambler.  
  
"Hell no, Polyanna."  
  
"Polyphontes!" the tracker retorted, standing up straight.  
  
"Um, gentlemen?" Face wandered over, followed by an annoyed looking and limping BA, "As ranking officer, I'm here to order you all back to work, before BA gets too angry with me."  
  
As one, all six men saluted, while Murdock laughed.  
______________________________  
  
Concluded in part six  



	6. Part Six

Alpha Males, part six  
  
"The Enemy at the Gates" or "One hell of a fight"  
_______________________________________  
  
"Enemy at the gates!" Murdock called from atop the bell tower on the empty church. He'd seen the riders coming in, fast.  
  
Hannibal looked up and gave the thumb's up signal at him, then looked across at Chris. Both men were on opposite sides of the main street leading into the town, Hannibal in front of the "saloon" and Chris in front of the "jail." The others were scattered around, most up on the balconies covering the street -- the high ground. Vin and BA were both on roofs, on sharpshooter duty. Face and Ezra shared a long balcony above what had once been a hotel, while Buck and JD were atop the old stable and livery. Nathan and Josiah were on the ground, hanging out near the "hotel." Murdock came crashing down from the bell tower and went to join them.  
  
The outlaws rode into the town in two groups, one entering from the direction of the river, and the others going around to enter from the other side. They both reined in to stop where the buildings began, pausing to have a look around.  
  
The town was dead. The outlaws were aware that they had been spotted coming in, but it was still a little odd to see such completely empty streets...except for the handful of men.   
  
Sitting lazily on the boardwalk with their heads down were two men, neither of which looked like a sheriff, while two others hung out up the road a bit looking as if they were playing cards, and one...  
  
What was he doing?  
  
As if he were on the vaudeville stage, Murdock jumped into the middle of the road and bowed to the outlaws.   
  
"Thank you, thank you!" He said, though, of course, no one was clapping. "And for my next trick...."   
  
He turned sideways and stuck out one of his thin legs to tap the ground in front of him. His head bobbed curiously, his back arching as he moved into a half squat. The lead foot set itself down, and the other one started the same motion.  
  
Then he started clucking like a chicken and "flapping" his wings. He craned his neck around to blink up at the lead outlaw, and grinned.  
  
The outlaw shook his head, then frowned.  
  
"(Get him!)" he ordered, spurring his horse forward.  
  
Murdock squealed and dashed down an alley, as outlaws poured into the town from both sides.  
  
Gunfire exploded from all around them, totally confusing the outlaws. Some had the presence of mind to look up and see the men on the roofs and balconies, picking them off from their higher positions. Horses reared and jumped, running into each other in their confusion, and outlaws fell from their backs. Several beasts went down in the melee, tripping up other horses and those unseated outlaws now trying to flee.  
  
Several outlaws plunged off down one of the alleyways, only to feel their horse's muscles suddenly bunch up and come to an abrupt halt in front of the paper wall. Three men were thrown off and through the false wall, ending up in unmoving heaps among the hay bales on the other side. The horses backed up, totally bewildered by a wall that both was and wasn't there.  
  
"(Back, back! Regroup)!" One of the outlaws yelled, trying to steer his horse around and back out of the ambush. Those that responded were already backing out, while those that had fallen from their horses were being knocked out by fists that seem to come from nowhere. Like ghosts, Chris, Hannibal, Murdock, Nathan and Josiah flitted through the chaos and took down all the men they could find. Bullets continued to rain down from above, but in the mess none of the outlaws could get a clear fix on any of the shooters.   
  
Then the horses were turned around and the outlaws galloped back out as quickly as they had come in.  
  
They left about twenty men behind, some dead, most completely out of it.  
  
"Get these ones into the jail," Chris ordered, leaping down off a boardwalk and wiping some of the sweat out of his eyes.  
  
"How long before they return?" Josiah panted, lifting an outlaw up over his shoulder.  
  
"Not long," Hannibal muttered. "I give them fifteen minutes at most. They'll be more careful next time, and will be expecting the boys up above. They might even try to come at us from behind, coming through the buildings."  
  
"They'll see how empty the buildings are then," Nathan said, grabbing two groggy outlaws by their collars and steering them in the direction of the jail. For all that it was a ghost town, the jail here was actually bigger than the one in Four Corners. Josiah had made a mention of the irony of that fact for a town that had been called Freedom.  
  
"Aye," Murdock grinned, grabbing his own man, "but we have only just begun to fight!" He shook his free fist and headed across to the jail.  
  
"He means the traps," Hannibal told Chris as they met in the roadway. Chris smiled wryly.  
  
"I know."  
_________________________________________  
  
It wasn't fifteen minutes, it was more like ten. They had just finished clearing the street and getting into more defensible positions when the outlaws returned. This time, the sixty or so men attacked in small groups, coming up through the alleyways and, as Hannibal predicted, through the buildings. Like rats riding a rising tide, they swarmed into the town, the bulk trying to get to the men on the balconies and roofs.   
  
Especially the roofs.  
  
"Tanner!" BA yelled from his roof perch, "Behind you!"   
  
The tracker spun around and kicked, the movement being his first instinct when he saw the shadow looming over him. The outlaw lost his balance as the foot slammed into his leg, the shotgun slipping from his grip. In that moment, Vin gutshot him, sending the unlucky outlaw off the roof with a scream.  
  
"BUCK!" On his balcony, Ezra got up on one knee and aimed across the road with his rifle, a single shot taking out one of the two men advancing on the ladies' man. The dead outlaw fell back onto the other one, giving Buck enough time to turn and knock them both off the balcony.  
  
Then someone had hold of Ezra from behind, grabbing his rifle and pulling it back against his throat. The faint sound of JD yelling his name was blurred under the blood rushing to his ears as his air was cut off. Risking letting go of the rifle, Ezra brought his arms up and elbowed the man holding him as hard as he could in the ribs. The gust of breath past his face and the loosening of the rifle told him he had succeeded. Whipping around, he got in a couple of solid punches to the outlaw's face, then threw him off the balcony.  
  
Unfortunately, Ezra's rifle went with him. Pulling his Remington, Ezra hunkered back down and looked to check on Face further down the long railing.  
  
The conman was deep into his own problems, fighting off two men...and his arm was bleeding from a knife wound. He managed to shove one back, but the other one aimed a sharp punch to the conman's kidneys from behind, causing Face to stagger.   
  
But for a moment, it gave Ezra an opening.  
  
"Face!" the gambler yelled, standing up, "Down!"  
  
The lieutenant instantly dropped out of range, and Ezra picked off both outlaws with deadly accuracy. One fell over the edge, and the other barely missed following him. Face grabbed the man by his belt and heaved him over the edge to follow the other. Then he threw a grin at Ezra in thanks.  
  
Ezra had already knelt down again and was back to covering the men below.  
  
Chris was pinned behind some barrels in front of the "saloon," trying rapidly to reload his peacemakers, while Hannibal continued to fire upon men from the jail with a borrowed rifle - he'd been stealing weapons rather than wasting time reloading. Josiah and Nathan were both locked into fistfights, while Murdock was running around like...well...a madman...with about six men on his tail. He flew past where Chris was reloading, distracting the outlaws that had been attempting to sneak up on the gunslinger. Moments later, Chris was back up and firing, stopping the attackers and forcing them back.  
  
Meanwhile, the same six were still on Murdock's tail, despite the captain's impressive speed. When Murdock passed just in front of him, Hannibal pointed to the ground and shot a single shot into the dirt.   
  
BOOM!  
  
The ground exploded, raining dirt and filth onto the six men who had been chasing the captain. They all collapsed back, overcome.   
  
"BA! NOW!" the colonel yelled up.   
-----------------------------------  
  
Up on his roof, BA grinned and started shooting at the ground beneath the men. One after another, charges exploded upwards, knocking outlaws from their mounts and knocking those already on the ground into the filth, completely dazed. Horses screamed at the suddenly erupting earth, increasing the chaos and driving riders around in circles.  
  
The men fighting Josiah and Nathan were all thrown with the blasts of air and noise, as were the preacher and healer. But, having expected them, the two peacekeepers were back on their feet quickly, using the distraction to gain the advantage.   
  
BA continued to fire at the ground, unaware that three outlaws had managed to get up onto the roof behind him. Vin looked up, yelling a warning, but over the noise of the rifle and the explosions, BA didn't hear.   
  
Face heard the tracker's warnings however and looked up, seeing the men coming up behind BA. Switching his aim, the lieutenant aimed to hit the piece of roof just by BA's head.   
  
The sergeant reacted immediately, switching his aim to point at Face. The lieutenant lowered his rifle and swung his arm in a spinning motion three times.   
  
As "ordered," BA spun around and fired three times. All three outlaws went down, falling off the peaked roof like rain off a duck's back. Turning back, BA saluted his lieutenant.   
  
Vin shook his head in amazement.  
  
JD grunted as a lucky shot winged his right arm, though he continued to fire with his left. Buck bit back an urge to go and shove the boy inside the building to protect him.   
  
"You all right JD?" he shouted, hunkering down to reload his rifle. JD glanced over, his mouth open to answer, then, suddenly, the kid turned and aimed directly at Buck. The ladies' man didn't even have to wonder as he ducked, feeling as much as hearing the kid's colt hiss a shot past his ear. Turning, he was just in time to see the outlaw that had been sneaking up behind him fall backwards off the balcony.  
  
"Yeah, just a graze," the kid said, finally answering Buck's question. The ladies' man grinned and snapped the chamber closed on the rifle.  
  
The last of the charges in the road hit, BA got back to shooting at outlaws.   
  
For all their work, there were still a good number down below, firing and, considering that Hannibal was now as pinned as Chris, looking as if they were getting the upper hand.  
  
At that moment, a loud whinny erupted from the stable, turning a few heads. The large double doors flew open and a handful of outlaws on foot came running out, half of them slipping in their haste, followed by an extremely angry Vandal. The huge black reared and huffed, his steel-shod hooves catching anyone and anything in its way. Like a force of nature, the horse was trained as a cavalry charger, but, when angry, he acted more like one of the ancient medieval warhorses -- a weapon as dangerous as any sword. Vandal crashed through the crowd of horses and men in the street, terrifying the beasts and causing quite a few to bolt, whether their riders wanted to or not. Then the big black was gone, vanishing around a corner just as one of the outlaws had the presence of mind to try and shoot him.   
  
BA picked the outlaw off before he could finish the thought.   
  
Ezra almost laughed, trying to picture Chaucer doing that and failing. His horse was a lot of things, but he was not a warhorse!  
  
Just then he heard his Remington click empty, and, as his left hand went for the colt in his side holster, he happened to catch the red rimmed eyes of an outlaw pointing his rifle in his direction from down below. Before he could even move, he felt the bullet rip through his left shoulder, the accompanying bang a dull afterthought. Thrown back against the wall behind, he gasped, the sudden pain literally blinding, his vision tearing up and blacking out. Vaguely, he was aware that he pitched forward...and over the edge of the balcony.  
---------------------  
Face split the shooter's head with a bullet, then ran to where Ezra fell. Without thinking, he jumped off the balcony and rolled with the fall, narrowly missing being trodden by another horse's hooves. Had he looked behind him, he would have seen Vandal explode out of another alleyway and knock the trampling rider and his horse to the ground, giving the lieutenant enough time to cross over to Ezra's unmoving form and grab his red jacket in two hands.  
  
Face dragged Ezra into the relative safety of a building, and into a space that had probably once been a milliner's shop, based on the empty hat boxes in one corner.   
  
Ezra blinked owlishly up at him, his vision returning slowly as the pain began to register.  
  
Pulling off his navy coat, Face pressed it against the wound on Ezra's shoulder, his blue eyes scanning the gambler's desperately for a sign that he wasn't dying. The gambler winced at the sudden pressure, but no sound came from his lips. The lieutenant pressed harder.  
  
"You can't die, damn it!" Face hissed. Then he tried to smile as Ezra blinked up at him again, "Murdock will never forgive me if you do," he whispered.  
  
A slight smile crossed the gambler's features, then his head titled to the side to face the door. Face looked over his shoulder in the same direction, sensing more than hearing the creak of the wooden flooring. He shifted sideways as he saw three men shove in through the door of the deserted shop, his hand looking for the weapon he had dropped when he took off his coat. One of the outlaws grinned and shook his head as he raised the gun in his hand.  
  
A twitch and Ezra engaged his derringer, the snapping sound causing Face to look down at the red clad arm just as Ezra fired two shots in the direction of the outlaws. Two of the outlaws fell dead, while the third staggered back to the door. He shook nervously, his mouth open, watching the derringer with bewildered eyes. Ezra's arm fell slack, the derringer empty, and oblivion once more taking his senses.  
  
Realizing then that the gambler's little pistol was empty, the third outlaw shakily raised his own gun at Face, almost as if he were unsure of what exactly was happening. The lieutenant could only stare back, his blue eyes intense in the half light of the room, his only thought to block as much of Ezra's body as he could with his own.  
  
Almost simultaneously, two shots exploded through the last outlaw's back, shoving him forward several steps. One shot was fired from a peacemaker, the other from a rifle. As the outlaw fell to the floor, Chris ran in behind him, peacemaker raised. Hannibal was just behind, the rifle in his hands up as he covered the black-clad gunslinger.  
  
"You all right kid?" Hannibal called.   
  
"Yeah," Face whispered back, his eyes on Chris Larabee.  
  
Wincing at the sight of the blood covering both Ezra and Face, Chris jumped across the three bodies and knelt next to them, seeing the soaked coat pressed against Ezra's shoulder. The lieutenant asked a silent question, and Chris nodded.  
  
"I got him," the gunslinger said, reaching over to take Face's place. The lieutenant sighed quickly and got back to his feet to go join Hannibal by the door. On the way, he found the gun he had dropped. Hannibal nodded at him and hunkered away down the boardwalk. Face ducked out of the door, covering his colonel.  
  
Chris gave Ezra a lopsided grin as the pale green eyes blinked open again briefly.   
  
"Hey," the gunslinger greeted quietly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Chris," Ezra gasped, feeling the pain more now. Chris furrowed his brow.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"They need you out there," the gambler replied hoarsely.  
  
"I know where I'm needed," Chris said softly. "Besides, that captain told me the king in his story dies in the end. I'm not in the mood."  
  
Ezra blinked...then smiled.  
  
Outside, Josiah and Nathan dashed to opposite sides of the street as the last of the still mounted horses headed in their direction. As one, they grabbed the ends of the thick clothesline sticking out of the dirt and pulled backwards sharply.   
  
The thick braided clothesline pulled up out of the dirt in a single motion, looking like the tape at a footrace...except this one didn't break.  
  
The horse's bowed their heads under the line without conscious though, leaving their riders to hit the elastic line full on...and snap backwards off their horses.   
  
Those lucky enough to fall out of their stirrups just fell, while the others got dragged several feet before their beasts came to a stop.  
  
And it was over.  
  
Vin whooped and stood up off his roof, shaking his gun in the air. JD and Buck jumped down from their balconies to help the others cover the men on the ground. BA got up on one knee and saluted the tracker across the way, and Vin returned it proudly.  
  
Down in the disused shop, Chris pressed desperately down on the bleeding gambler's shoulder, trying not to notice that Ezra had lost consciousness again. Trying to repress the numbing fear he felt, the gunslinger turned to the door and screamed Nathan's name.  
_____________________________________  
  
Epilogue  
  
Colonel Smith shook his head, "I made you a promise, Mr. Larabee, and I intend to keep it."   
  
Hannibal faced Chris in front of the Freedom jail, his men standing around him. They all stood at attention before Chris, the action of respect not lost on the gunslinger.  
  
Chris nodded, "I know you did, Colonel Smith, and if we were in Four Corners, I would put you back in jail. But...well," he smiled wryly, "we're not." He looked around him at the ghost town, smiling a little at the false signs that proclaimed the Four Corners Saloon and the Four Corners Hotel. He looked back at Hannibal and smiled. "We're in Freedom."  
  
"So, if we were to return to Four Corners?" Face asked.  
  
"I'd lock you up and throw away the key," the gunslinger replied easily.  
  
"Ah," Face looked to his feet.  
  
"The army is going to be here in a couple of hours, Colonel, and, if I were you, I'd get out while you can," Chris added.  
  
Hannibal nodded and stuck out a hand. Chris shook it firmly.  
  
"We'll leave just as soon as we say goodbye to the others," the colonel told him. "By the way, how is Mr. Standish this morning?"  
  
"Recovering, albeit slowly. It'll be a while before we can move him out of here. He broke his left wrist in the fall and sprained his back, and, with the shot to his shoulder, he'll be in pain for a long time. But that medicine you gave Nathan seems to be working; it has really dulled the pain, I think."  
  
"You can thank Murdock for that one," Face said, looking to the captain. Murdock didn't hear, he was focused on something in the distance.  
  
"Murdock?" Hannibal turned to look in the same direction. Nothing but sky.  
  
"I can hear the final chorus calling, as gentle as that of leaves falling," the captain said cryptically, raising his hands like a conductor, "They say, time to go, muchachos!"  
  
"Well, hell, can't argue with final chorus," Face said. 'C'mon Murdock, time to say our goodbyes."   
  
Of the outlaws that had attacked the town, only about thirty ended up in the jail, though they were packed in like sardines. Another fifteen others were laid up across the way in the old saloon, being watched over by Nathan and JD. Ezra was there too, asleep most of the time. The rest of the outlaws had either been killed or had run off. Truth be told, not that many had escaped, and none of the original gang of twenty were among them. When Josiah and Buck had gotten the grim job of counting and shifting the dead, it was assumed that probably only five or six were unaccounted for.  
  
The A-Team wished Buck, Vin and Josiah well where they were keeping guard in the jail, and all three peacekeepers returned the sentiment by telling them that they were welcome back to Four Corners any time. And if Chris locked them up, all three promised, they would be the first to help them escape. In the background, the gunslinger sighed heavily.  
  
"Such disloyalty," he mumbled, just loud enough for the others to hear.   
  
Across the way in the makeshift saloon/clinic, Nathan and JD (with a sling on the kid's arm) shook all four men's hands, and Murdock and JD promised to write each other. Face tried to wake up Ezra but the gambler was well out of it. Instead, the conman wrote a quick note and asked Nathan to give it to him when he woke up.   
  
Then, quietly, the A-Team vanished into the landscape. It was so unlike the manner in which they had arrived, that, for a moment, it didn't seem real.  
  
When Ezra awoke, he frowned at the knowledge that the team had left, upset that he hadn't had more time to talk to them. But he cheered up when he unfolded the note.  
  
"What does it say?" Nathan asked, sitting down on the cot next to him.   
  
Ezra smiled, shaking his head, "It's just a thank you note for the card lesson, and an invite to come visit when he's rich and famous."  
  
"Rich and famous, eh? Sounds like something you'd write," Nathan replied, leaning over his shoulder. "Hey, what does the postscript say?"  
  
Ezra chuckled, his green eyes bright, "It says, See, I told you Murdock wasn't crazy."  
  
(Queue music)  
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End  
  
Hope you liked it! Feedback is absolutely and always needed and appreciated!  
Love Tipper  



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